IN  A 
DIKE 
SHANTY 


MARIA 

LOUISE 

POOL 


I^RBBBB 

f^^m 

•'jT/li 

Hfl 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 


UNIT.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  MW 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 


By 
Maria  Louise  Pool 

Author  of  "  Friendship  and  Folly,"  etc. 


Boston 
L.  C.  Page  and  Company 

(Incorporated) 
1898 


Copyright,  1896 
BY  STONE  AND  KIMBALL 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


TO 

CAROLINE   M.   BRANSON, 

MY    PARTNER    AND    FRIEND    IN    THE    DIKE    LAND, 
THE    DIKE    DAYS,    AND    ALL    DAYS, 

I    DEDICATE 
THIS    RECORD    OF    A    HAPPY    SUMMER. 


21121.80 


Contents 


I. 

A    BAFFLING    BlT  OF   PROPERTY    Page  J 

II. 

TRYING  TO  GET  THERE 

18 

III. 

WE  GET  THERE 

28 

IV. 

ORLANDO  AND  OZIAS 

50 

V. 

MOWING  THE  DIKE 

59 

VI. 

AT  MAR  BAKER'S 

7i 

VII. 

AN  ORDER  FOR  BUMONGE 

84 

VIII. 

IT  JELLS 

94 

IX. 

A  LETTER  AND  A  NERVE  ATTACK 

105 

X. 

REMINISCENCES  OF  JOEL 

122 

XI. 

HELPING  MRS.    BURNS  WATCH 

135 

XII. 

STOWING  HAY  WITH  OZIAS 

I52 

XIII. 

THE  REBELLION  OF  JULY'S  YOUNG 

MAN 

I67 

XIV. 

A  PIECE  OF  Music 

I79 

XV. 

A  COOT  STEW 

191 

XVI. 

AN  AFTER—  DINNER  EPISODE 

209 

XVII. 

POOR  RODGE 

219 

In  a  Dike  Shanty 


I 

A   BAFFLING   BIT   OF   PROPERTY 

WE  have  come  into  possession  of  ninety -five 
acres,  "  more  or  less,"  of  dike  land, 
commonly  mentioned  simply  as  "dike."  We 
did  not  buy  it,  and  no  one  was  so  malicious  as 
to  leave  it  to  us  by  will.  We  have  taken  it 
for  debt.  Now  that  we  have  it  people  seem  to 
blame  us  as  well  as  pity  us  ;  and  yet  we  had 
to  take  this  or  nothing.  A  person  living  within 
sight  of  our  shanty  told  us  yesterday  that  the 
general  opinion  in  the  outlying  community  was 
that  no  one  but  a  cursed  fool  would  have  taken 
that  kind  of  property  for  debt ;  and  that,  as  for 
its  being  that  or  nothing,  it  might  better  by  a 
7 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"  darned  sight  be  nothin'."  But  we,  in  our 
ignorance,  had  an  idea  that  any  kind  of  property 
was  better  than  no  kind  of  property.  It  seems 
we  were  mistaken.  It  is  too  late,  now,  how- 
ever, for  any  regrets.  We  have  gone  on  to  the 
land  in  the  company  of  two  witnesses,  and  have 
"  hereby  taken  possession,"  etc.  and  have  the 
legal  papers  to  show  for  it ;  also  we  have  begun 
to  pay  taxes ;  and  taxes,  every  one  assures  us, 
"  is  the  only  thing  the  land  '11  ever  amount  to ;  " 
every  man  we  meet  is  advising,  and  condoling 
with  us.  Some  of  them  take  the  fact  solemnly  ; 
others  begin  to  laugh  when  they  see  us,  and 
they  ask  what  are  the  dividends  from  the  dike. 
All  this  has  begun  to  raise  in  me  a  spirit  of 
combativeness  which  may  end  in  my  adoring 
this  new  acquisition,  which  lies  in  the  town  of 
Marshfield,  on  the  seacoast  of  Massachusetts.  It 
is,  in  fact,  land  reclaimed  from  the  sea  by  a  dike 
built  to  prevent  the  tide  from  coming  in  across 
the  stretch  of  flat  lying  there.  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  flat  in  this  town,  and  some  of  it  is  now 
protected  in  this  way. 

If  we  could   afford  to  look  at  our  new  real 
estate  merely  in  the  light  of  its  picturesqueness  we 
8 


A  Baffling  Bit  of  Property 

should  be  fortunate  mortals.  If  you  drive  over 
Marshfield  hills  in  early  spring  when  the  faint 
hue  of  life  is  coming  redly  to  the  tree  twigs, 
and  in  a  sort  of  green  grayness  to  the  great  salt 
meadows,  you  will  feel  your  heart  drawn  in  a 
strange  way  to  the  very  solitude.  You  may  see 
a  dog  coursing  along  over  the  dead  grass,  or  a 
bird  flying  above  it.  You  will  not  be  likely 
to  see  a  human  being.  You  will  hear,  just 
beyond  the  sand  hills,  the  rush  of  the  ocean  as 
the  tide  rises.  When  you  are  down  on  the  flats 
you  cannot  see  the  ocean.  But,  though  it  is  not 
visible,  you  feel  intimately  near  it,  and  it  con- 
trols you  in  a  blind,  mysterious  way.  Now 
that  this  ninety-five  acre  tract  is  ours,  we  are 
going  to  think  only  of  its  scenic  and  atmospheric 
possibilities. 

One  man,  who  seemed  to  have  more  of  a  spirit 
of  fairness  within  him,  told  us  it  was  so  rich  — 
the  land  he  meant — that  'twould  n't  need  no 
manure  for  years.  'Twas  unaccountable  how 
rich  it  was.  "But  then,"  he  added,  reflec- 
tively, "it  don't  make  no  odds,  fur  's  I  know, 
if 't  is  rich.  You  can't  do  nothin'  with  it.  If 
you  lived  over  to  the  Brant,  now,  and  could 
9 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

work  it  somehow.  But  not  livin'  to  the  Brant, 
and  bein'  women  —  "  here  he  paused. 

We  said  it  was  possible  to  overcome  the  first 
objection,  and  live  at  the  Brant,  but  how  could 
we  help  being  women  ? 

He  looked  sadly  at  us  and  shook  his  head. 
He  said  that  there  bein'«  dikes,  he  s' posed  it 
follered  that  somebody  must  own  'em,  but  he 
did  think  it  was  agin  natur  for  'em  to  be 
owned  by  women. 

This  same  man  informed  us  that  there  was  a 
good  crop  of  hay  there  every  year,  but  it  cost  a 
thunderin'  sight  to  git  it ;  still  — 

Here  he  paused,  and  I  began  to  suspect  he 
was  paving  the  way  by  this  talk  to  the  making 
of  a  low  offer  for  "  standing  grass "  on  the 
dike.  And  so  it  turned  out,  for  he  held  on  to 
our  buggy  shaft  until  he  had  delivered  himself 
of  a  bid  for  the  grass,  qualifying  his  bid  by  the 
repetition  of  the  remark  that  "  it  would  cost 
about  as  much  as  the  grass  was  wuth  to  git  it." 

Time  was  when  we  would  have  closed  im- 
mediately with  this  offer  and  congratulated  our- 
selves that  we  were  rid  of  that,  bother,  for  one 
year  at  least.  Now  we  answered  we  would 
10 


A  Baffling  Bit  of  Property 

think  of  it,  and  let  him  know  ;  and  we  were 
revived  in  spirit  at  sight  of  his  crest-fallen  face 
as  he  heard  us. 

"Depend  upon  it,"  said  my  friend  as  we 
drove  away,  "that  grass  is  worth  getting. 
What  if  we  should  get  it  ourselves  ?  " 

The  idea  was  too  startling  to  be  embraced 
directly,  but  it  remained  in  our  minds,  slowly 
leavening,  in  the  weeks  that  followed.  We 
have  talked  over  in  secret  the  possibility  of  our 
getting  in  that  crop  and  thus  knowing  positively 
the  amount  of  it,  and  having  some  idea  of 
what  this  estate  is.  But  thus  far  we  have  been 
too  timid  to  come  to  a  decision.  It  is  barely 
summer  yet,  and  we  have  time  in  which  to 
reach  a  resolve.  Still  we  must  make  up  our 
minds  in  season  to  sell  before  it  is  too  late. 
Considering  that  "  it  costs  as  much 's  it 's  wuth  " 
to  git  that  grass  it  is  surprising  that  so  many 
farmers  in  the  vicinity  have  made  inquiries  of 
us.  They  are  unanimous  in  opinion  as  to  the 
fearful  expense  of  getting  that  grass.  They  will 
be  bankrupt  by  just  getting  it,  therefore  we,  of 
course,  cannot  think  of  charging  much  for  the 
grass  as  it  stands. 

il 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

For  a  month  past  my  friend  and  I  have  talked 
and  dreamed  of  nothing  but  standing  grass.  Be- 
fore the  green  blades  were  hardly  visible  we 
have  had  them  grown  and  cut  and  dried.  We 
have  sold  the  crop ;  and  we  have  made  it ;  we 
have  done  it  all  dozens  of  times.  As  I  walk 
about  among  my  friends  and  converse  on  differ- 
ent subjects,  I  hardly  know  what  to  say,  for  my 
heart  is  afar,  not  in  the  Highlands  by  any  means, 
but  in  land  so  low  it  has  to  be  protected  from 
the  ravages  of  the  sea.  When  they  tell  me 
things  concerning  subjects  in  which  I  used  to 
be  interested,  I  am  alarmed  at  the  indifference 
I  feel.  I  tell  myself  that  these  things  have  no 
bearing  on  grass  or  dike  lands,  consequently 
they  are  nothing  to  me.  Sometimes  I  fancy 
my  acquaintances  look  at  me  in  ill-veiled  sur- 
prise and  wonder,  but  I  cannot  say  to  them  that 
I  am  thinking  of  the  dike.  If  I  did  say  that 
they  would  have  a  still  worse  look  on  their  faces. 
Society  is  not  as  attractive  to  me  as  formerly,  for 
when  I  am  in  the  midst  of  laughter  and  conver- 
sation I  cannot  think  clearly  on  my  favorite 
subject.  And  somebody  must  think  clearly  on 
it.  My  friend  and  partner  takes  this  far  more 

12 


A  Baffling  Bit  of  Property 

lightly  than  I  do.  When  I  remonstrate  with 
her  on  account  of  her  frivolity  she  says  that  one 
monomaniac  is  enough,  and  she  informed  me 
that,  only  the  day  before,  when  our  minister 
was  calling  upon  us  and  had  expressed  his  sorrow 
for  the  death  of  Matthew  Arnold,  I  asked  him 
if  he  thought  Mr.  Arnold  had  ever  owned  dike 
lands,  and  if  such  had  been  the  case,  whether 
such  ownership  would  have  made  any  difference 
in  his  poetry. 

Now  I  do  not  believe  I  ever  made  any  such 
remark.  Should  I  not  remember  it  if  I  had 
done  so  ?  Though  she  asserts  that  I  said  that, 
and  that  the  minister  grew  pale  with  apprehen- 
sion as  he  heard,  I  think  my  friend  has  imagined 
this.  But  I  will  acknowledge  that  I  was, 
mentally,  in  Marshfield  during  that  call,  and 
that,  while  the  gentleman  was  talking,  I  made 
an  accurate  estimate  of  how  much  hay  there 
ought  to  be  to  an  acre. 

There  is  another  drawback  to  this  new 
property  of  ours,  which  I  have  hesitated  to 
mention. 

You  cannot  get  to  it;  at  least,  you  almost  can- 
not. The  way  to  it,  though  there  are  few 
13 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

turns,  is  yet  as  balking  and  bewildering  as  if  you 
were  essaying  to  traverse  a  labyrinth  without  the 
guiding  thread. 

It  is  all  easy  enough  until  you  get  within  a 
few  miles,  then  you  begin  to  be  baffled. 

We  have  been  down  four  times  this  spring. 
It  is  fifteen  miles  away  from  our  home,  and  the 
first  three  quarters  of  the  distance  we  tell  our- 
selves that  we  shall  have  no  trouble  this  time. 
As  we  near  ths  spot  and  the  air  begins  to  grow 
salt,  we  begin  to  be  conscious  of  a  little  uncer- 
tainty. We  hate  to  inquire  the  way  for  two 
reasons.  The  first  is  that  when  we  do  make 
inquiries,  before  any  reply  is  given,  we  are  asked 
if  we  are  the  two  women  that  own  some  of  the 
dike  down  here.  Then  truth  compels  us  to 
say  yes,  and  we  are  gazed  at  as  curiosities  that 
are  not  often  seen  and  which  must  be  made  the 
most  of  while  visible.  On  the  repeating  of  our 
question  some  directions  are  given  which  mostly 
depend  on  whether  certain  bars  are  down,  or 
gates  open  somewhere.  As  we  are  not  yet 
familiar  with  the  country  hereabouts,  we  can- 
not keep  these  directions  clearly  in  mind,  and 
soon  have  to  beg  again  for  information,  and 
H 


A  Baffling  Bit  of  Property 

again  acknowledge  that  we  are  the  women  who 
own  ninety-five  acres  of  dike. 

It  is  very  singular  that  each  time  we  have 
driven  down  to  the  shore  we  have  somehow 
come  within  sight  of  our  land  and  driven  around 
here  and  there,  but  for  a  long  time  could  not 
find  any  way  to  get  to  it,  though  there  it  lay, 
vast,  flat,  and  bewitching  before  us,  and  giving 
the  impression  that  we  could  drive  right  over 
to  it.  But  how  ?  Whenever  we  made  any 
nearer  approach  we  had  but  to  come  back  and 
look.  Half  a  dozen  narrow  cart  tracks  wound 
toward  it,  but  we  could  not  get  to  a  single  one 
of  them.  It  was  maddening.  There  was  the 
flat  and  there  was  the  big  barn  on  it,  and  the 
small  shanty  where  the  haymakers  lived  when 
they  came  down  to  make  hay  and  store  it.  All 
these  belonged  to  us,  and  we  were  shut  from 
them. 

The  last  time  of  our  visit,  which  was  three 
days  ago,  we  were  standing  by  our  horse's  head 
ready  to  weep  or  swear  with  vexation  that  we 
could  not  learn  the  way  to  the  dike,  and  con- 
templating the  making  a  gap  in  the  wall  in  front 
of  us,  when  a  man  came  along  riding  on  top  of 
15 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

a  load  of  dripping  kelp.  Seeing  our  forlorn 
condition  he  pulled  up  his  horse  and  looked 
intently  at  us.  We  returned  his  gaze,  anxious 
at  first  regarding  the  future  health  of  a  man  who 
could  sit  on  dampness  like  that.  We  were 
presently  relieved  to  see  that  he  had  a  rubber 
blanket  spread  over  the  place  on  the  wet  kelp 
where  he  was  sitting. 

"Up  a  stump,  ain't  ye?"  he  asked  sympa- 
thetically, at  last. 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  is  a  stump  we  are  up,"  said 
my  friend. 

"Can't  I  help  ye  any?" 

"No  one,"  said  she,  "seems  able  to  make 
us  know  how  to  get  to  that  flat  there.  This 
is  the  fourth  time  we  've  been  here,  and  we 
don't  know  any  more  than  we  did  at  first." 

"I  declare,  you're  in  a  kind  of  a  fix,  ain't 
ye  ? " 

As  the  man  said  this  he  clambered  down  from 
his  load  and  came  toward  us,  a  long  flapping 
piece  of  kelp  attached  to  his  over-all  leg,  and 
dripping  brine  as  he  walked. 

At  first,  as  he  approached,  he  tried  to  occupy 
himself  by  a  pretended  attempt  to  remove  this 
16 


A  Baffling  Bit  of  Property 

ocean  vegetable,  but  it  twisted  and  clung  like 
a  serpent.  He  said  some  folks  did  n't  like  the 
smell  er  kelp,  but  such  folks  was  mostly  them  as 
wasn't  used  to  it.  For  his  part  he  liked  the 
smell  of  everything  that  was  good  for  the  land. 
He  did  not  appear  to  realize  what  a  broad  asser- 
tion he  was  making,  or  where  it  might  lead 
him.  At  last  he  held  the  slippery,  pulpy  stuff 
by  the  round  place  which  I  will  unbotanically 
call  the  handle.  He  now  stood  near  us,  and 
we  must  have  made  an  interesting  group,  the 
feminine  part  gazing  off  at  the  flats,  the  mas- 
culine part  gazing  with  keenest  curiosity  at  the 
feminine  part. 


II 

TRYING   TO   GET  THERE 

"  T    DO  declare,"  he  exclaimed  after  awhile, 

•*•  "  you  must  be  them  women  that  owns 
some  er  that  dike." 

Again  we  acknowledged  our  identity,  and 
waited  further  developments,  for  we  knew  very 
well  it  would  avail  us  nothing  to  try  to  hurry 
this  stranger  so  that  we  might  gain  the  sooner 
any  knowledge  of  how  to  reach  our  promised  land. 

When  we  had  answered  him  in  the  affirma- 
tive, his  face  brightened  a  good  deal.  He  ex- 
plained this  brightening  by  remarking  that  he 
had  heard  consid'ble  about  us,  and  he  had  been 
curious  to  see  us  ever  sence  we  had  took  posses- 
sion. Wall,  now,  did  we  expect  to  make  a 
good  thing  out  of  it  ?  We  said  we  hardly  knew 
what  we  did  expect,  but  our  principal  wish  just 
now  was  to  learn  how  to  get  there. 

He  took  no  notice  of  this  hint  for  him  to  give 
us  directions.  He  was  reflectively  drawing  his 
18 


Trying  to  Get  There 

long  sea-weed  through  his  fingers,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  us.  He  told  us  it  was  the  richest 
land,  he  s' posed,  there  was  anywhere  in  the 
State,  and  he  didn't  care  where  the  next  piece 
was.  He  knew  the  man  that  owned  next  to 
us,  and  he  had  put  out  strawberries,  and  the 
size  of  them  berries  was  beyond  what  he  ex- 
pected anybody  to  believe  that  had  not  seen  um. 
But  he  had  seen  um,  and  seein*  was  believin', 
even  about  the  dike.  The  dike  did  n't  need 
no  manure,  and  would  n't  need  none  for  years 
to  come. 

"Took  it  for  debt,  didn't  you?"  he  in- 
quired with  sudden  directness. 

Yes,  we  took  it  for  debt. 

"  Ninety-five  acres,  they  say  ?  "  We  nodded, 
and  he  said  he  had  guessed  it  must  be  that  part 
which  used  to  belong  to  the  old  Jo  Tilden  prop- 
erty. He  then  repeated  his  assertion  that  it 
would  n't  need  no  manure  for  one  five  years, 
he  was  sure  of  that. 

My  friend  said  gravely  that  if  there  was  one 
thing  for  which  she  felt  thankful,  it  was  for  the 
unanimity  of  the  opinion  about  manure. 

The  man  looked  at  her  solemnly  for  a 
'9 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

moment  after  she  had  thus  remarked,  then  he 
laughed,  and  a  very  merry  twinkle  came  into 
his  eyes  as  he  did  so. 

"P'raps  folks  have  been  givin'  you  advice," 
he  said. 

"No,"  I  replied,  "folks  have  mostly  con- 
fined themselves  to  saying  anybody  was  a  fool 
to  own  dike  lands,  and  to  telling  us  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  grass  there,  but  it  would  cost  more 
than  it  was  worth  to  get  it,  and  how  much 
would  we  take  for  it  standing  ?  We  are  waiting 
to  hear  you  say  these  same  words.  When  you 
have  said  them,  we  hope  you '  11  be  ready  to 
tell  us  how  to  get  there." 

Again  the  man  laughed,  this  time  more  heartily 
than  before,  and  when  he  could  speak,  — 

"I  swow  !  You've  got  it  'bout  right,"  he 
said.  "I  was  jest  a-goin'  to  tell  you  that  that 
grass  would  cost  full  as  much  as  't  was  wuth, 
but  I  won't  say  so,  seein'  as  you've  heard  it 
before.  Mebbe  you  're  thinkin'  of  gittin'  it 
yourselves  ? " 

Ungovernable  curiosity  again  took  possession 
of  him  as  he  eyed  us  intently. 

My  friend  explained  to  him  that  we  did  not 
20 


Trying  to  Get  There 

know  what  the  future  held  in  store  for  us.  It 
might  be  possible  that  we  should  get  that  grass 
ourselves.  Then  she  begged  once  more  for 
directions.  He  roused  himself  and  said  he 
s'posed  he  was  a-henderin'  us.  Then  he  put 
his  whole  mind  to  the  task  before  him.  He 
said  he  had  ben  livin'  not  three  mile  from  Cut 
River  for  mor 'n  five  year,  and  he  had  only  jest 
learned  how  to  git  round.  He  informed  us  that 
we  had  come  too  fur  to  begin  with.  We  come 
through  Hanover,  didn't  we?  Yes,  wall,  one 
thing  we'd  better  bear  in  mind,  and  that  was, 
if  we  wanted  to  git  on  to  that  old  Jo  Tilden  dike, 
which  was  now  our  dike,  we  must  always  turn 
into  a  gate  there  was  about  twenty  rod  from  the 
Webster  place.  Did  we  remember  that  gate  ? 

A  brilliant  flash  of  memory  came  to  both  of 
us.  That  gate  !  Of  course,  we  knew  now  that 
we  had  passed  through  such  a  gate  every  time, 
after  ignorant  and  prolonged  groping  for  it. 

Our  informant  went  on  to  say  that  if  we  came 
from  the  Brant,  why,  that  was  different.  Then 
it  would  save  three  miles  if  we  left  our  team  at 
the  Brant  and  came  across  the  Cut  in  a  boat. 

At  this  point  we  begged  him  not  to  confuse 

21 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

us  by  telling  us  now  anything  about  coming  over 
in  a  boat.  Let  that  be  for  such  time  as  we 
might  be  at  the  Brant.  It  seemed  probable  that 
we  should,  in  the  near  future,  be  obliged  to  re- 
move our  residence  to  the  Brant,  in  order  that 
we  might  be  near  the  dike,  but  at  present  — 

"Jes'  so,"  he  interrupted,  "I  understand. 
I  don't  wonder  you  feel  so.  I  own  some  dike 
myself,  and  that 's  why  I  moved  down  to 
Ma'shfield  five  year  ago.  'Taint  no  use  in 
owning  dike  'less  you  live  in  Ma'shfield,  your- 
self. You  '11  find  it  so.  When  a  man  owns 
that  kind  er  prop'ty  he  kinder  wants  to  be  nigh 
it,  a-watchin'  of  it,  and  a-experimentin'  on  it. 
That 's  the  way  'tis  with  a  man,  and  I  don't 
know  why  it  should  n't  be  the  same  with  a 
woman." 

It  was  with  a  thrill  of  something  like  terror 
that  I  heard  these  last  words.  Yes,  I  said  to 
myself,  it  was  the  same,  or  worse  even,  when 
a  woman  was  the  possessor.  I  felt  that  the  spell 
of  the  dike  was  already  working  on  me.  How 
penetrating,  persuasive,  and  powerful  would  that 
spell  prove  ?  Only  the  future  could  answer  that 
question. 

22 


Trying  to  Get  There 

We  were  all  three  leaning  comfortably  on  the 
tumble-down  wall  now.  The  horses  had  gone 
cropping  the  young  grass  by  the  roadside.  The 
air  was  warmed  by  the  sunshine  of  early  sum- 
mer, and  the  perfume  of  blossoms  was  every- 
where. There  was  something  quaintly  interesting 
too  in  our  companion,  who  was  so  saturated 
with  the  salt  odor  of  wet  kelp,  that  to  be  with 
him  was  almost  like  taking  a  sea  bath.  He  was 
in  no  hurry  to  go.  He  was  evidently  one  of 
those  men  who  "love  to  talk  better  than  they 
love  their  victuals,"  which  is  loving  to  talk  very 
well,  indeed.  Also,  every  minute  he  was  slak- 
ing more  and  more  his  curiosity  concerning  us. 

He  seemed  autobiographically  inclined.  He 
said  it  was  in  the  early  611  when  he  first  came 
here.  His  wife's  father  had  died  and  left  her 
some  dike  in  his  will.  He  had  always  had  a 
kind  of  a  spite  against  this  darter  on  account  of 
her  choosin'  him,  the  speaker,  as  a  husband. 
He,  the  speaker,  guessed  it  was  along  of  this  spite 
that  the  old  man  left  some  dike  to  her.  Any 
way,  there  'twas,  and  it  had  got  to  be  seen  to. 

I  felt  that  this  was  precisely  our  case :  there  it 
was,  and  it  had  got  to  be  seen  to. 
23 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"  As  I  was  sayin',  it  was  fall  when  I  come 
down.  I  drove  through  Hanover,  just  as  you 
did,  and  I  kep'  inquirin'  jest  as  I  s'pose  you  did, 
and  everybody  seemed  to  d'rect  me  as  plain  as 
day  ;  and  they  all  kinder  pitied  me,  jest  as  they 
do  you,  I  s'pose,  'cause  I  'd  got  some  dike.  My 
wife  she  was  with  me.  By  'n'  by  we  come  to  a 
nice  face  wall,  and  there  was  peach  trees  growin' 
above,  and  bendin'  down  so  we  could  git  some 
peaches.  There  was  a  lot  of  'em,  and  the 
owner  was  there,  and  he  told  us  to  help  our- 
selves, as  they  was  rottin'  ;  and  we  did.  They 
was  good.  Then  we  drove  on.  Pooty  soon  I 
asked  the  way  agin,  and  the  man  took  great  pains 
to  tell  us,  and  we  went  on  a  couple  of  miles 
and  turned  a  sharp  corner  to  the  left  eggsactly 
as  he  had  said,  and  come  out  opposite  a  face  wall 
with  a  peach  orchard  atop.  We  eat  more 
peaches,  same  variety  as  before,  only  the  owner 
wa*  n't  there  to  this  orchard.  I  said  to  my  wife 
that  I  didn't  know  before  'twas  such  a  country 
for  peaches,  and  she  said  she  did  n't  either. 
Then  we  went  on,  and  I  stopped  next  time  at  a 
store,  and  had  the  man  come  out  and  p'int.  He 
said  we  wa*  n't  a  mile  from  the  dike,  and  we 
24 


Trying  to  Get  There 

could  n't  miss  our  way  if  we  tried.  So  we 
went  on  a  good  while  longer  than  the  other 
time,  and  took  every  turn  as  d'rected  and, 
thunder  and  lightning  !  where  do  ye  think  we 
come  out  to  ?  " 

"  Another  peach  orchard,"  I  said. 

"  And  with  a  nice  face  wall,  and  the  same 
variety  er  fruit.  We  eat  some  more.  Then  I 
said  it  seemed  to  me  so  many  face  walls  with 
peaches  was  suspicious ;  and  my  wife  said  she 
s' posed  I  knew  'twas  the  same  wall  and  the 
same  orchard.  She  said  she  'd  known  it  every 
time,  and  then  she  began  to  cry,  and  to  ask  if 
she  should  ever  see  her  home  agin.  And  I 
guess  I  began  to  swear ;  and  I  cussed  the  will 
that  had  left  dike  to  Marcia.  Jest  then  a  man 
come  along,  driving  fast  in  an  open  buggy,  and 
I  jumped  out  and  I  hailed  him,  and  he  stopped, 
and  I  asked  if  he  knew  any  road  that  'd  take  us 
out  er  Ma'shfield,  and  he  laughed  and  said  he 
was  goin'  up  to  Hanover  Four  Corners,  and  if 
we  'd  foller  him  he  thought  he  could  git  us 
out. 

"  And  I  jest  tackled  right  on  to  that  man,  and 
I  never  drawed  a  long  breath  till  we  were  at 
25 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

the  Four  Corners.  We  lived  a  dozen  miles 
away  and  we  made  straight  for  home,  and  we 
never  seen  the  dike  that  trip  at  all.  That  was 
my  first  'tempt  to  git  here.  But  I  had  ter  keep 
tryin'  of  course.  My  wife,  after  that  time,  was 
afraid  ter  have  me  go  without  her,  and  she  was 
afraid  ter  go  with  me  herself.  You  see  it  made 
it  kinder  hard  for  us,  for  we  couldn't  'ford  to 
hire  a  guide  's  they  do  in  them  travels  you  read 
of  in  books.  But  there  'd  oughter  be  a  guide. 
He  'd  make  good  wages,  I  vum  !  I  've  often 
had  an  idee,  when  I  've  ben  a  ridin'  round, 
tryin'  to  git  onter  Marcia's  dike,  that  the  old 
man  that  left  it  to  her  must  be  a-laughin'  in  his 
grave." 

Here  he  paused  a  moment  in  his  easy  gar- 
rulity and  reflectively  chewed  at  the  kelp  handle. 
When  he  spoke  again  it  was  to  assert  unexpect- 
edly that  "  gals  was  the  queerest  things  in 
God's  creation.  Now  my  wife's  niece,  she's 
er  livin'  with  us.  She  likes  the  dike.  Yes, 
she  absolootly  likes  it.  She  comes  down, 
without  no  errand,  and  walks  on  it.  She  says 
there's  er  charm  to  it.  She  says  there's  an 
'indescribable  charm.'  But  then,  you  can't 
26 


Trying  to  Get  There 

account  for  gals.  This  one  's  been  teaching  that 
school  over  to  the  East.  Last  term  her  health 
give  out,  'n'  she  's  ben  helpin'  my  wife  sence. 
The  change  done  her  good.  If  you  should  make 
any  stop  here  she'll  come  'n'  see  ye.  She's 
kinder  Southern  by  birth,  but  there  '  s  a  good  deal 
of  Yankee  to  her,  I  tell  her.  You  '11  like  her ; 
that  is,  you  will  if  she  happens  to  let  ye;  'n'  I 
guess  she  will." 

Although  at  another  time  we  might  have 
been  more  interested  in  this  girl  who  was  kinder 
Southern  by  birth,  just  now  we  felt  that  we 
could  not  indulge  this  person  in  talking  about  his 
wife's  niece.  We  recalled  him  to  the  subject  of 
the  dike  by  expressing  our  sympathy  for  his  wife 
regarding  her  legacy.  He  returned  with  zeal  to 
that  topic.  He  grew  loquacious  again. 

When  you  meet  with  one  who  has  endured 
the  same  pangs  which  are  now  afflicting  you,  how 
you  hate  to  part  with  him.  He  is  like  an  old 
friend. 


Ill 

WE   GET   THERE 

F  FELT  like  clinging  to  this  man  whose  wife 
-*•  had  been  the  heiress  of  "  some  dike,'' 
and  who  had  just  told  us  of  his  experience, 
while  his  load  of  kelp  and  our  buggy  waited. 
He  had  been  obliged  to  move  to  Ma'shfield. 
He  may  have  had  a  pleasant  home  about  which 
fond  reminiscences  clustered,  but  the  spell  of  the 
fiend  was  laid  upon  him,  and  he  left  that  home. 

"  Do  you  think,"  I  said  timidly,  when  he 
paused  and  again  chewed  the  kelp,  "do  you 
really  think  that  we  also  shall  be  compelled  to 
live  near  ? " 

"Can't/  say,  positively,  in  course,"  he 
answered  ;  "but  I  prophesy  you  '11  do  jest  that 
thing  eggsactly.  And  if  you  do,  and  when 
you  do,  you  take  my  advice  now  ;  you  come  to 
the  Brant.  The  Brant 's  the  place  for  women. 
IguessI'llbegoin'." 

28 


We  Get  There 

He  turned  abruptly  away,  trailing  his  kelp 
over  his  shoulder,  and  climbed  up  on  to  his 
moist  load.  He  took  the  lines  and  smiled  with 
pity  and  sympathy  as  he  cautioned  us  to  be  sure 
'n'  go  right  back  to  that  gate  by  the  Webster 
place.  I  wanted  to  rush  after  him  wildly  and 
beg  him  never  to  leave  us  until  we  were  on  the 
Jo  Tilden  dike.  But  I  stood  still  in  silence  as 
becomes  a  woman. 

The  man's  horse  strained  and  pulled,  and 
finally  started.  The  man  turned  toward  us,  and 
said  with  great  impressiveness,  — 

"Mind,  I  tell  ye,  the  Brant's  the  place  for 
women.  And  when  ye  move  down,  don't 
forgit  that  I  've  got  a  pesky  nice  little  house  to 
the  Brant  that  I'll  sell  reasonable." 

The  reins  were  slapped  violently,  and  the 
odorous  pile  moved  out  of  sight. 

We  had  resumed  our  places  in  the  buggy  and 
were  preparing  to  turn  round,  when  our  friend 
suddenly  appeared  at  the  front  wheel  and  said,  — 

"  I  meant  ter  have  told  ye  that  if  you  do  git 
in  that  grass  yerselves,  I  c'n  do  it  for  ye  's  rea- 
sonable, 'n'  more  so,  'n  most  anybody.  My 
name's  Peake;  live  over  on  t'other  road  ;  any- 
29 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

body  '11  tell  ye  where  Rodge  Peake  lives.  If 
my  wife  ain't  able  to  call  on  ye,  her  niece  will. 
We  '11  be  neighborly,  anyway.  It 's  about  all 
we  c'n  do.  There  's  a  good  deal  to  contend 
with  on  this  coast.  But  I  don't  want  to  dis- 
courage ye." 

Then  he  was  gone  again.  It  was  dreadful 
for  us  to  be  left  to  suspect  that  he  had  not  been 
disinterested  when  he  had  said  that  the  Brant 
was  the  place  for  women. 

"  I  have  resolved  upon  one  thing,"  said  my 
friend,  as  we  successfully  drove  through  the  right 
gate,  and  were  actually  on  our  unimpeded  way 
to  our  land,  '*  and  that  is,  that  if  we  are  such 
thralls  of  the  dike  that  we  have  to  move  down 
here,  I  shall  not  go  to  the  Brant.  There  is 
where  I  shall  go." 

She  pointed  to  the  shanty  which  was  now 
perfectly  visible  in  all  its  desolation,  standing  on 
the  unutterable  flatness  of  the  flats.  I  did  not 
know  that  anything  could  be  so  level  as  was  the 
stretch  before  us.  It  was  so  uniform  that  it 
made  my  head  swim.  It  unrolled  in  an  un- 
varying extent  that  was  suggestive  of  entire 
vacuity.  It  made  one  frantic.  And  there  was 
3° 


We  Get  There 

the  barn,  blacker,  more  dismal  than  the  shanty. 
It  was  a  very  large  barn ;  it  told  plainly  that 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  grass  on  the  dike. 

The  flats  were  a  divine  green  now ;  I  could 
not  deny  that ;  nor  that  it  was  a  sweet  wind  that 
gently  came  from  the  ocean ;  nor  that  the  wild 
sea  birds  flying  about  were  precisely  the  proper 
birds  to  be  sailing  above  such  a  landscape.  Yes, 
it  was  a  solemn  and  mysterious  place  down 
here. 

I  felt  it  more  and  more  as  the-  horse  trotted 
noiselessly  over  the  path  toward  the  stable.  The 
little  settlement  at  Brant  Rock  was  in  partial 
view.  Between  it  and  us  flowed,  without  a 
ripple,  the  narrow  Cut  River.  The  cliffs  of 
white  sand  shone  out  there  in  the  morning  sun 
with  a  glitter  that  in  my  present  mood  was 
almost  mocking.  The  level  was  now  melan- 
choly, the  future  outlook  depressing. 

The  very  subtlety  of  the  beauty  on  every  hand 
was  only  another  reason  for  sadness  to  an  unquiet 
soul. 

"It  is  a  good  spot  for  a  suicide,"  I  said. 
"I  never  was  in  a  place  so  far  off"." 

"  You  are  hungry,"  was  the  cheerful  response. 
.31 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"  You  want  your  tea.  It  is  not  the  soul  which 
is  gloomy.  It  is  the  stomach  which  is  empty, 
—  two  states  of  being  often  confounded  with 
each  other.  This  is  a  good  place  in  which  to  live 
with  a  conscience  that  is  clear.  If  you  do  not 
consent  to  come  down  I  shall  think  it  is  because 
you  are  haunted  by  the  memory  of  an  undis- 
covered crime." 

We  had  carefully  brought  the  keys  to  the 
padlocks  which  fastened  the  barn  and  the  shanty. 
We  had  never  visited  either  building.  We  now 
found  that  our  house  key  was  quite  superfluous. 
The  staple  had  been  pulled  out  and  the  door 
now  swung  partially  open.  Whether  this  con- 
dition of  things  was  due  to  the  free  and  easy 
manners  of  strolling  gunners  we  could  not  tell, 
and  it  made  little  difference. 

It  was  not  a  well-furnished  residence.  In 
fact  the  furniture  consisted  of  a  stove,  so  seamed 
and  rent  that  it  trembled  as  we  walked  near  it ; 
a  very  large  frying-pan,  still  showing  unmistak- 
ably that  the  last  thing  cooked  in  it  was  fat  salt 
pork,  and  a  pack  of  extremely  greasy  playing 
cards  placed  in  a  careless  manner  on  the  ledge  of 
the  only  window  in  the  place.  This  was  the 
32 


We  Get  There 

furniture,  unless  bunks  can  come  under  that 
head.  At  the  end  of  one  room  there  were 
three  bunks  built  one  above  the  other.  A 
ragged  bed  quilt  was  in  the  lower  bunk. 

I  took  up  the  cards.  They  were  so  dirty  I 
could  not  tell  the  queen  of  hearts  from  the 
knave. 

I  advanced  to  the  bunks. 

Did  something  move  in  the  thickest  mass  of 
that  quilt?  After  a  pause  I  went  nearer.  My 
friend  was  examining  the  frying-pan.  Certainly 
the  ragged  cover  moved.  The  next  moment  a 
languid,  wizened  Yorkshire  terrier  came  slowly 
into  view  from  among  the  folds.  For  a  York- 
shire terrier  to  be  languid  speaks  volumes  as  to 
what  it  must  have  endured.  This  creature  sat 
up  feebly  on  its  haunches  and  looked  at  me  from 
behind  its  hair.  And  I  looked  at  him.  In  a 
moment  its  very  small  tail  wagged  a  very  little ; 
I  joyfully  knew  that  I  was  approved.  Still  he 
did  not  get  down.  Perhaps  he  was  too  weak. 
He  was  such  a  scraggly,  emaciated  terrier  that 
my  heart  ached  over  him. 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  he  who  took  off  the 
staple  and  the  padlock?"  suddenly  asked  my 
3  33 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

friend  over  my  shoulder.  She  had  left  the 
frying-pan  and  was  gazing  with  me. 

The  dog  looked  at  her  and  wagged  again. 

"Oh,  the  angel!"  she  cried;  and  then  to 
me,  "  Surely  you  cannot  refuse  to  live  in  a 
house  where  you  have  found  such  a  precious 
little  thing  as  this  ?  It  must  be  a  sign  of  good 
luck  to  find  a  darling  terrier  already  under  your 
own  roof.  I  would  rather  have  him  than  a 
horseshoe." 

He  whined  in  a  fine,  small  way  now,  which 
made  us  remember  our  lunch-basket.  It  was 
brought,  and  the  dog  kindly  accepted  all  the 
cold  chicken  it  contained.  Then  he  revived 
wonderfully,  and  jumped  off  the  quilt,  thus 
showing  still  more  plainly  how  thin  he  was. 
He  was  very  grateful.  He  licked  our  hands 
and  was  extremely  attentive ;  but  he  was  only 
a  diminutive  hairy  package  of  bones,  and  he 
could  not  frisk  much. 

"I  suppose,"  said  my  companion,  reflectively, 
"that  he  either  owns  dike  lands  or  has  friends 
who  own  such  property.  That  is  what  has  so 
reduced  him." 

It  is  astonishing  how  long  we  discussed  the 

34 


We  Get  There. 

• 

dog,  he  lying  out  on  his  side  and  keeping  his 
shining  eyes  on  us  as  we  talked.  We  thought 
he  would  be  such  company  while  we  were 
getting  in  the  hay. 

Yes,  without  actually  giving  my  consent,  I 
yet  knew  that  I  should  come  down  here  and 
see  about  that  grass.  When  a  human  being 
hates  to  do  a  thing  and  is  at  the  same  time 
absorbingly  curious  to  know  how  it  would  seem 
to  'do  it,  be  assured,  that  thing  will  be  done. 
There  was  no  other  way  to  lay  the  demon  that 
possessed  me.  And  we  should  live  in  this 
shanty.  I  looked  about  me.  It  might  even  be 
that  we  should  play  "Old  Sledge"  with  that 
pack  of  cards.  We  might  also  come  to  saying 
"I  vum,"  when  we  felt  somewhat  emphatic. 
And  that  frying-pan,  —  should  we  use  that  dur- 
ing the  days,  while  we  came  to  think  salt  pork 
was  good  food?  And  in  the  nights  should  we 
sleep  in  those  bunks  ? 

My  friend  followed  my  glance,  and  hastened 
to  say  that  she  had  always  heard  that  there  was 
nothing  in  the  world  so  health-giving  as  to 
sleep  in  a  bunk. 

"And  think,  then,"  she  went  on,  "  what  it 
35 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

• 

must  be  to  sleep  in  a  bunk  in  a  shanty  on  a  dike. 
Nothing  can  be  more  stimulating.  I  know  that 
we  are  both  perfectly  well,  but  we  shall  be 
laying  up  a  store  of — " 

Fortunately  this  speech  was  interrupted  by  a 
sharp  bark  and  a  growl  from  the  terrier,  who 
was  looking  ferociously  toward  the  open  door. 

"How  Y  ye?"  said  a  voice.  The  voice 
was  so  thin  and  so  shrill,  and  came  from  such 
a  height,  that  we  were  greatly  confused  for  a 
moment. 

"Carn't  ye  make  yer  pup  shet  up?"  it 
asked  queruously,  as  the  terrier  went  off  into  a 
spasm  of  sharp  barks. 

The  speaker  was  in  figure  something  like  an 
animated  rake  handle.  He  had  a  head  that 
somehow  instantly  suggested  a  white  onion.  It 
was  not  much  larger ;  it  had  very  little  hair,  no 
hat,  and  no  expression  whatever,  save  a  kind  of 
parboiled  look. 

"Who  are  you?"  I  asked,  perhaps  too 
brusquely.  The  answer  was  immediate  and 
startling. 

"  I  ?     Oh,  I  'm  Mar  Baker's  idjit." 

We  did  not  know  what  response  to  make  to 
36 


We  Get  There 

this.  Mar  Baker's  idjit  looked  us  over  with 
entire  calmness,  and  for  an  embarrassing  length 
of  time,  before  he  told  us  "  he  seen  a  buggy  'n' 
the  shanty  open,  'n'  thought  he'd  call.  He 
guessed  we  was  them  women  that  owned  some 
dike,  wa'n't  we  ?  Wall,  what  he  wanted  mostly 
ter  say  was  that  if  we  got  the  grass  in  ourselves 
he  wanted  the  job  er  rakin'  after.  He  could 
rake  after  like  er  house  a-fire,  and  when  we 
paid  him  he  could  go  to  the  Brant  'n'  have  ice- 
cream. He  never  had  'nough  ice-cream  yet. 
Did  we  like  it  ?  And  did  we  think  't  was  colic-y  ? 
Mar  Baker  thought  'twas  colic-y." 

Without  the  least  warning  this  person  then 
left  us,  and  we  watched  his  enormous  length 
moving  along  over  the  flat  in  the  sunshine,  the 
smooth  head  lopped  on  one  side.  The  terrier 
looked  also,  shaken  with  a  final  series  of  barks. 
Then  he  lay  down  to  rest. 

While  the  dog  rested  we  also  reposed  as  well 
as  we  could  on  two  chairs  which,  in  their 
present  state,  were  not  calculated  to  invite  idle- 
ness, for  one  of  them  had  only  three  legs  and 
required  artful  balancing  against  the  wall.  The 
other  had  lost  the  top  of  the  back,  so  that  the 
37 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

spokes  had  opportunity  to  thrust  themselves  under 
adjacent  shoulder-blades,  opportunity  of  which 
they  availed  themselves,  with  the  remorselessness 
characteristic  of  inanimate  things. 

We  sat  thus,  pretending  to  rest,  and  convers- 
ing upon  the  possibility  of  a  general  rehabilitation 
of  the  shanty,  and  wondering  if  the  person  we 
had  just  seen  were  a  specimen  of  the  neighbors. 

Our  words  were  desultory  and  spoken  lazily. 
We  had  ridden  far  and  were  getting  sleepy.  I 
was  leaning  my  head  drowsily  against  the  wall, 
and  wishing  the  bunks  looked  cleaner,  when  I 
became  aware  that  the  small  guardian  who  had 
partaken  of  lunch  with  us  was  on  his  feet 
bristling  and  growling.  He  gave  one  short 
bark,  then  wagged  his  tail  as  if  deprecating  his 
mistake. 

Immediately  there  came  within  my  line  of 
vision,  through  the  open  door,  the  figure  of  a  girl. 

She  was  leading  our  horse,  and  when  she 
was  near  enough  to  speak  she  turned  and  saw 
me. 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  lose  your  horse," 
she  said,  smiling  a  little.      "I  know  it  is  yours 
for  Mar  Baker's  son  told  me.      It  had  wandered 
38 


We  Get  There 

almost  to  the  main  road,  cropping  grass.  You 
must  have  forgotten  to  hitch  it." 

Yes,  we  had  forgotten.  Besides,  the  man 
who  owned  it  had  averred  that,  if  the  beast  had 
a  virtue,  it  was  that  it  would  stand  without 
hitching.  What  he  had  said  was  "that  critter 
'11  stand  er  hundred  years  'thout  bein'  nigh  er 
pos'  nor  nothin'." 

The  terrier  left  the  shanty  and  investigated 
more  closely,  growling  provisionally.  His  ulti- 
mate decision,  however,  was  favorable.  As  my 
friend  and  I  stepped  out  upon  the  rank,  thick 
grass  and  had  a  nearer  view  of  the  newcomer, 
we  felt  that  we  shared  the  dog's  approval. 

The  stranger's  hand  still  rested  on  the  bridle. 
She  was  tall  and  dark,  how  dark  it  was  impos- 
sible to  determine  accurately,  for  her  broad  hat 
was  pulled  far  over  her  forehead,  thus  making  a 
deep  shade  on  her  face. 

She  was  not  dressed  with  that  almost  painful 
accuracy  which  is  usually  perceivable  in  the  attire 
of  the  ordinary  country  Yankee  girl,  who  will 
sacrifice  grace  for  the  sake  of  a  strict  right  angle 
any  time.  I  think  such  a  genuine  Yankee  would 
have  said  that  the  person  before  us  was  not  tidy. 
39 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

To  me  she  seemed  better  than  tidy,  she  seemed 
attractive.  I  did  not  care  if  the  blue  silk  neck- 
tie about  the  sailor  collar  was  not  quite  straight, 
or  if  there  happened  to  be  a  rent  in  the  dress 
skirt  which  she  was  holding  up  with  the  dis- 
engaged hand,  or  if  she  wore  one  glove  while 
the  other  was  partially  protruding  from  her 
pocket.  A  true  daughter  of  the  place  would 
not  have  worn  one  glove  now,  but  would  have 
had  the  pair  rolled  up  in  a  round  ball  in  her 
pocket  below  her  handkerchief. 

This  girl  spoke  grammatically,  but  with  a 
kind  of  drawl,  and  with  an  occasional  elision  of 
a  letter,  but  not  the  elision  common  in  these 
parts.  There  was  also  a  certain  indolence  in 
her  speech  which  made  it  unreasonably  delicious. 
The  voice  had  a  kind  of  fulness,  something  that 
seemed  ripe,  as  a  fine  fruit  may  be  ripe.  But 
she  was  too  young  to  have  such  tones,  which,  in 
all  justice,  should  not  belong  to  any  woman  in 
her  twenties,  and  this  woman  could  only  be 
on  the  uttermost  verge  of  her  first  score  of 
years. 

"  I  reckon  I  might  tie  him  here,"  she  said, 
indicating  a  stake  which  was  driven  in  the 
40 


We  Get  There 

ground  a  few  feet  away,  and  which  probably  had 
been  put  there  for  this  very  purpose. 

She  pronounced  "here"  almost  with  a  long 
sound  of  "i  "  in  it. 

She  struck  us  more  and  more  as  being  decidedly 
"  worth  while." 

She  proceeded  immediately  to  unbuckle  one 
rein,  draw  it  out  and  twist  it  round  the  stake, 
finishing  with  a  horse-knot.  This  operation  was 
contradictory  to  her  appearance  and  voice,  and 
went  far  to  show  that,  if  not  a  Yankee,  she  was, 
as  they  say,  "  faculized  "  as  one.  To  be  facul- 
ized  is  to  possess  "faculty,"  and  faculty  is  the 
attribute  dearest  to  the  New  England  heart ;  it 
is  the  attribute  which  enables  one  always  to  land 
on  one's  feet ;  which  is  the  entire  opposite  of 
"shiPlessness."  I  suppose  it  is  owing  to  being 
faculized  that  so  many  New  England  people  can 
get  a  living,  nay,  a  comfortable  living,  off  a  piece 
of  land  which  consists  apparently  of  nothing  but 
rocks  and  huckleberry  bushes.  It  is  the  secret 
of  homely  thrift. 

When  the  girl  dropped  the  end  of  the  knotted 
line  from  her  hand  she  looked  toward  us  and 
smiled  again.  Not  the  alert  and  acute  smile 
41 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

which  we  expect  on  the  face  of  an  intelligent 
girl  born  and  bred  here,  but  an  expression  having 
a  certain  slumberousness,  and  a  something  which 
made  it  the  appropriate  expression  to  accompany 
her  voice. 

We  had  not  spoken  yet,  and  we  now  hastened 
to  thank  her.  We  explained  that  the  horse  had 
been  warranted  to  stand.  Then  we  acknowl- 
edged that  we  had  been  so  interested  in  the 
dike  that  we  had  completely  forgotten  our 
steed. 

The  girl  leaned  against  the  animal  as  she 
absently  drew  out  the  glove  from  her  pocket  and 
began  straightening  the  fingers.  She  appeared 
to  be  interested  in  us  and  not  willing  to  go 
immediately. 

"Perhaps  you  don't  know  how  to  harness 
and  unharness  ?  No.  I  thought  you  did  not 
from  the  way  you  looked  at  me  when  I  tied 
that  knot.  I  know  how.  It  makes  a  woman 
quite  independent.  I  've  learned  since  I  came  to 
Uncle  Rodge's.  Would  you  like  to  have  me 
take  out  your  horse  and  put  him  in  the  barn 
there,  so  that  he  may  have  his  dinner  ?  I  hope 
I  am  not  officious  ?  " 

42 


We  Get  There 

We  eagerly  said  that  she  was  not  officious, 
and  explained  that,  if  we  had  thought  anything 
about  the  animal's  dinner  we  had  thought  to 
stop  at  a  stable  somewhere,  though  it  did  seem 
as  if  the  man  had  put  oats  in  the  buggy.  We 
looked.  Yes,  there  were  the  oats  and  the  halter 
under  the  seat. 

The  girl  unfastened  the  rein  and  jumped  into 
the  carriage.  As  she  pulled  up  the  horse's  head 
from  its  instant  search  for  grass  she  leaned  toward 
us  and  said  interrogatively. 

"  I  reckon  you  are  the  ladies  who  own  some 
dike  here  ?  " 

Perhaps  she  saw  by  our  faces  that  we  had 
been  expecting  that  question,  for  she  began  to 
laugh  and  we  joined  with  her. 

"  I  know  you  are,"  she  said  in  her  slow  way, 
"  and  every  person  you  have  met  since  you 
came  to  Marshfield  has  asked  you  if  you  are. 
You  are  famous.  Women  don't  own  dike 
much  down  here.  We  are  all  watching  to  see 
what  you  will  do  with  it.  We  are  just  living 
now  to  see  if  you  will  get  in  your  grass  your- 
selves. Do,  please,  get  it  in  yourselves  !  " 

She  slapped  the  horse's  back  with  the  reins 
43 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

and  the  animal  started  at  the  slowest  kind  of  a 
walk  toward  the  barn.  As  the  buggy  wheeled 
round,  the  dark  face  was  put  out,  and  its  owner 
laughed  noiselessly  as  she  said,  — 

' '  For  all  our  sakes,  please  get  it  in  your- 
selves ! " 

If  we  had  seen  our  new  acquaintance  abroad 
we  could  have  classified  her  directly  as  an 
American ;  seeing  her  here  we  must  try  to  place 
her  still  more  definitely.  She  could  not  be  a 
Northerner,  for  if  she  were  there  would  hardly 
have  been  that  peculiar  ease  in  her  friendly 
cordiality.  On  the  other  hand  if  she  were  not 
a  Yankee  would  she  ever  have  thought  of  learn- 
ing how  to  harness  ? 

As  we  stood  looking  at  the  receding  back  of 
the  buggy  it  occurred  to  us  that  this  must  be  Mr. 
Peake's  wife's  niece,  she  of  whom  he  had  said 
"that  she  was  kinder  Southern  by  birth,  but 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  Yankee  to  her." 
We  thought  it  made  an  enchanting  combina- 
tion, this  being  kinder  Southern  and  yet  with  a 
flavor  of  New  England. 

The  horse  and  buggy  had  been  out  of  sight  in 
the  barn  a  few  moments  when  the  girl  appeared. 
44 


We  Get  There 

She  waved  her  hand  at  us,  and  then  strolled 
leisurely  across  the  flat  toward  the  road. 

After  she  was  gone  it  came  to  our  minds  that 
we  should  not  know  how  to  put  the  harness  on 
the  horse,  and  it  might  be  many  hours  before 
a  man  would  come  within  call.  There  were 
glimpses  of  houses  here  and  there  at  a  distance 
on  the  higher  lands. 

Doubtless  there  was  more  than  one  man  resid- 
ing near  who  would  be  more  than  willing  to  har- 
ness for  the  sake  of  seeing  how  them  women 
looked.  But  how  should  we  let  him  know 
when  he  was  wanted?  This  question  assumed 
very  large  proportions  as  the  sun  began  to  go 
toward  the  West  and  nobody  was  visible  over 
the  whole  stretch  of  the  flats.  Not  even  a 
solitary  horseman  wound  his  way  along  that  far- 
off  high-road  at  the  edge  of  the  dike  lands. 

We  had  lunched ;  we  had  rested ;  we  had 
examined  the  shanty  so  that  we  knew  accurately 
how  thorough  must  be  the  house  cleaning  that 
would  make  it  fit  for  our  habitation. 

We  had  become  happily  intimate  with  the 
terrier,  who  responded  ardently  to  our  advances. 

Now  the  time  had  come  when  we  could  no 
45 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

longer  disguise  from  ourselves  that  our  way  home 
was  long  and  complicated,  and  that  our  horse 
must  be  prepared  for  his  journey. 

We  went  to  the  barn  feeling  that  forlorn  des- 
peration natural  to  the  woman  who  has  a  horse 
to  be  harnessed  and  no  man  to  do  it  for 
her. 

There  was  the  horse  placidly  blinking  in  his 
stall  That  complication  of  straps  and  buckles 
known  as  a  harness  hung  on  a  peg  against  the 
wall.  Have  you  ever  tried  this  kind  of  work 
without  knowing  in  the  least  how  to  do  it  ? 
Did  you  ever  swing  the  saddle  on  and  carefully 
try  to  adjust  the  crupper  round  the  horse's  neck? 

There  was  one  thing  we  knew,  or  rather 
there  were  two  things :  we  knew  the  saddle 
when  we  saw  it,  and  we  knew  it  was  worn  in 
the  middle  of  the  animal's  back.  But  not  until 
after  laborious  experiment  did  we  demonstrate 
that  the  crupper  did  not  go  about  the  throat. 
Here  may  be  a  good  place  to  state  that  a  per- 
son should  never  try  this  experiment  with  a 
crupper  and  a  horse  unless  the  latter  is  warranted 
to  be  perfectly  gentle  under  all  circumstances. 
No  right-minded  man  or  woman  could  blame  a 
.  46 


We  Get  There 

beast  for  resenting  the  attempt  to  put  about  his 
neck  the  leather  meant  for  his  tail.  Besides,  the 
strap  will  not  go  round.  A  woman,  however 
womanly  in  her  inefficiency  she  may  be,  can 
only  try  to  make  it  go  round. 

We  tried  until  we  were  crimson  with  our 
exertions.  Then  my  friend- remembered  another 
thing  about  a  harnessed  horse  :  it  always  had  a 
bit  in  its  mouth.  This  recollection  of  hers  shed 
a  great  light  upon  us.  Knowing  that  the  saddle 
went  on  the  back  and  the  bit  in  the  mouth,  we 
went  to  work  afresh  with  such  zest  that  in  half 
an  hour  we  drove  across  the  flat  with  a  tremulous 
feeling  of  triumph.  We  were  triumphant  be- 
cause the  horse  was  in  the  shafts  and  was  pulling 
the  buggy.  We  were  tremulous  because  the 
whole  turnout  had  such  an  odd  look. 

We  knew  that  the  first  man  we  met  would 
stop  us.  It  would  not  be  necessary  for  us  to 
stop  him. 

We  had  driven  through  the  gate  near  the 
Webster  place  and  perhaps  a  mile  beyond  when 
we  saw  a  farm-cart  coming  with  a  man  sitting 
slouched  forward  on  the  seat.  As  soon  as  he 
was  near  enough  his  deliberate  gaze  began  to 
47 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

sweep  over  us.  Just  before  he  came  opposite  he 
pulled  on  his  horse  and  grinned. 

"I  guess  you  harnessed  yerselves,  didn't 
ye?  "  he  asked. 

He  put  one  hand  on  his  horse's  hip  to  steady 
himself  as  he  stepped  out  of  the  cart. 

"  It  was  the  horse  we  tried  to  harness,' '  said 
my  fellow-sufferer  with  more  meekness  than  is 
usual  with  her. 

"  Wall,  wall,"  he  said,  and  began  to  un- 
buckle and  pull  straps  as  it  seemed  to  us  all  over 
the  harness. 

When  he  had  finished  he  stepped  back  and 
surveyed  us  exhaustively. 

He  said  he  guessed  we  were  all  right  now. 
He  told  us  it  was  thunderin'  lucky  he  met  us 
'fore  we  come  to  no  hills.  He  added  that  he 
would  n't  advise  no  women  to  drive  down  no 
Ma'shfield  hills  with  the  britchin'  hitched  up 
on  to  the  saddle  instid  of  into  the  hooks  on  the 
shafts  where  britchin'  belonged. 

At  our  request  he  explained,  so  that  even  we 

comprehended,  that  those  long  loops  of  leather 

were  to  be  hooked  on  to  the  thills  to  keep  the 

carriage  "  from  runnin'  on  to  the  hoss."     We 

48 


We  Get  There 

learned  that  "  no  hoss  could  be  expected  to 
stan'  it  to  hev  a  carriage  runnin'  on  to  it.  It 
was  too  much  to  ask  of  a  hoss." 

As  we  listened  to  him  we  realized  for  the 
first  time  that  carriages  are  subject  to  a  kind  of 
demoniac  temptation  to  run  into  horses. 

We  thanked  this  man.  Then  we  went  on, 
one  of  us  driving  and  the  other  holding  the 
terrier. 


49 


IV 

ORLANDO   AND   OZIAS 


"  '  'yiAS  jest  as  lives  do   it  's  not.      In  fact,  I 
LJ     think  he  'd  ruther."      We  had    been 
living  in  our  shanty  more  than  a  week  when 
this  remark  was  addressed  to  us. 

The  voice  that  gave  us  this  assurance  was 
high  and  thin,  and  precisely  like  that  of  Ozias 
Baker,  commonly  known  as  "  Mar  Baker's 
idjit."  Indeed,  if  I  had  not  seen  the  speaker, 
I  should  have  thought  it  was  'Zias  himself. 
But  it  was  his  mother,  a  woman  almost  as 
phenomenally  short  in  stature  as  he  was  tall. 
At  nine  o'clock  this  morning  I  had  looked  across 
the  flat  toward  the  west  and  had  seen  two  figures 
approaching  side  by  side.  One  was  like  the 
shadow  a  person  casts  at  noon,  and  that  was 
Mar  Baker  ;  the  other  was  like  the  shadow  he 
casts  just  before  sunset,  and  that  was  'Zias. 

I  did  not  reprove  the  terrier  for  going  into  a 
convulsion    of  barking    at    sight    of  these    two 
5° 


Orlando  and  Ozias 

forms  gradually  lessening  the  distance  between 
them  and  the  shanty. 

I  did  not  state  at  the  proper  time  for  the 
statement  that  when  we  had  found  the  terrier 
nearly  starved  in  the  bunk  he  had  worn  a  collar, 
a  fine  chain  silver  collar.  We  were  so  pleased 
with  him  and  he  was  so  pleased  with  us  that 
for  some  time  we  scrupulously  refrained  from 
examining  the  plate,  difficult  as  it  was  to  abstain, 
lest  we  should  find  the  dog's  address  and  be 
compelled  by  honor  to  write  to  his  former 
friends.  Already  we  had  learnt  that,  if  you  are 
going  to  spend  any  time  in  a  shanty  on  dike 
lands,  the  sweetest  companion  possible  is  a  wide- 
awake, knowing,  watchful,  affectionate  York- 
shire. With  him  we  were  not  only  resigned, 
but  contented.  How  cheerful  he  was  !  He 
seemed  really  to  radiate  cheerfulness.  A  dozen 
times  a  day  he  told  us  that  the  jolliest  life  in  the 
world  was  to  be  on  a  dike  and  to  get  in  your 
own  standing  grass.  His  brown  eyes  shone 
so  through  his  hair  that  you  could  not  be  gloomy 
when  you  met  his  glance,  which  was  every 
time  you  looked  at  him. 

It  is  superfluous  for  any  one  to  tell  me  how 
51 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

cowardly  and  dishonorable  it  was  not  to  look 
immediately  on  his  collar,  and  make  every 
attempt  to  restore  him  to  his  owner.  We  knew 
how  wicked  we  were.  Whenever  we  hugged 
him  and  whenever  he  touched  our  hands  with 
his  tiny  red  tongue  we  said  to  ourselves,  "Oh, 
how  they  must  long  for  him  !  " 

We  felt  remorse ;  but  remorse,  as  Owen 
Meredith  and  others  have  assured  us,  is  not  pen- 
itence. We  did  not  turn  from  the  evil  we  were 
doing  ;  we  kept  on  in  it,  suffering,  and  yet  happy. 

Besides,  to  add  to  our  guilt,  this  creature  was 
valuable  pecuniarily.  He  was  thoroughbred, 
and  showed  his  breeding  in  looks  and  behavior. 
But  we  would  have  gladly  paid  all  he  was 
worth  to  own  him.  Could  we  not  at  any 
time  mortgage  a  slice  of  dike  ?  or  we  could  pay 
in  dike  itself,  only,  unfortunately  for  us,  dike  has 
not  yet  become  a  legal  tender. 

But  when,  at  the  end  of  two  weeks,  we 
courageously  read  the  inscription  on  the  collar 
plate  we  felt  greatly  relieved,  although  the  duty 
of  advertising  still  remained.  There  were  but 
two  words  on  the  collar,  and  they  were  these : 
"  Orlando  Inamorato." 

52 


Orlando  and  Ozias 

Of  course  this  was  the  name  of  the  dog.  It 
was  a  large  name  and  he  was  a  small  dog,  but 
when  we  tried  it  on  him  we  saw  that  it  fitted 
him  perfectly.  It  was  pathetic  to  see  his  dem- 
onstrations of  joy  when  we  addressed  him  as 
Orlando.  He  leaped  and  frisked  and  whined, 
and  showered  caresses  on  us.  Before  this  we 
had  mostly  called  him  such  things  as  "Dearie," 
and  "Duck,"  and  other  words  suitable  for  two 
women  to  have  thought  of  unaided  by  a  mascu- 
line mind.  Strange  to  say  it  had  never  occurred 
to  us  that  his  real  name  was  probably  Orlando 
Inamorato.  Hitherto  also  we  had  supposed 
that  Furioso  was  usually  the  surname  of  Orlando, 
but  we  were  thankful  it  was  not  so  in  this  case, 
for  any  womanly  woman  must  much  prefer 
Inamorato.  This  suggests  love,  and  conjures 
radiant  visions  of  Angelica  before  she  made  her 
lover  furious. 

We  each  embraced  Orlando  so  that  he  nearly 
died ;  but  even  when  he  was  almost  smothered 
he  would  give  us  quick  licks  with  his  scarlet 
tongue  and  lovely  glances  from  his  eyes. 

Yes,  I  thought  to  myself,  his  last  name  is  cer- 
tainly correct.  We  promised  the  terrier  that 
53 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

we  would  love  him  so  that  he  should  never  miss 
his  other  friends  ;  we  would  be  to  him  more 
than  any  people  ever  were  to  a  dog  before. 

In  the  midst  of  this  my  friend  propounded 
the  question  as  to  whether,  by  any  possibility, 
that  name  could  be  the  name  of  the  owner  too. 
And  she  said  we  must  advertise.  She  would 
not  wait  a  day  longer,  for  every  day  but  forged 
more  strongly  the  chains  which  bound  her  to 
this  dearest,  darlingest  creature  that  ever  lived. 
And  if  the  advertisement  should  be  answered, 
and  we  be  torn  asunder  !  —  but  we  could  not 
bear  this  thought.  However,  we  were  re- 
solved that  we  would  not  go  on  in  this  sin 
any  longer. 

Jointly  we  composed  an  advertisement  then 
and  there.  We  would  send  it  to  one  Boston 
paper.  One  was  enough ;  one  would  ease  our 
consciences. 

The  notice,  when  finished,  read  like  a  per- 
sonal, but  that  was  no  matter.  We  liked  it ; 
it  was  a  trifle  mysterious  also,  as  personals 
usually  are,  and  we  liked  it  for  that.  This  is 
the  way  it  read  :  — 

"To  the  old  friends  of  Orlando  Inamorato. 
54 


Orlando  and  Ozias 

He  is  well ;  he  is   happy ;  he  is  beloved.     If 
former  friends  wish  to  communicate,  address  — ." 

We  gloated  over  this.  We  showed  the  paper 
to  Orlando,  and  he  barked  approval.  He  as- 
sured us  that  we  might  have  added  to  "he  is 
beloved"  the  assertion  "he  also  loves."  We 
thought  of  rewriting  and  adding  this,  but  as  I 
took  my  pen  to  do  so,  Orlando  rushed  to  the 
door,  glanced  over  the  flat  to  the  west,  and  began 
to  bark  convulsively  as  though  a  platoon  of 
robbers  were  coming  toward  us ;  and  I  did  not 
blame  him,  as  I  have  stated,  for  what  he  saw 
was  Mar  Baker  and  her  son  Ozias. 

They  lived  in  the  first  house  on  the  road  that 
skirted  the  dike.  The  house  was  not  much 
larger  than  our  shanty,  but  it  was  clapboarded, 
and  painted  in  vivid  greens,  with  white  trim- 
mings and  blinds.  This  had  been  done  by 
Ozias.  His  mother  said  she  had  told  him  if 
he  'd  put  his  mind  to  it  and  paint  it,  he  might 
choose  the  colors.  So  he  had  put  his  mind  to 
it,  and  each  day  his  mind  appeared  to  vary 
as  to  the  shade,  and  more  or  less  coloring 
was  put  in  the  paint  pot  every  morning.  As 
he  only  painted  an  hour  or  two  in  the  fore- 
55 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

noon,  there  was  great  variety  of  tints,  each  tint 
showing  a  day's  application. 

Mar  Baker  said  she  s' posed  the  wood'd  be 
jest  as  well  kept,  and  for  her  part  she  'd  got  past 
caring.  'Zias  was  jest  as  the  Lord  made  him, 
and  if  she  could  live  in  that  house,  she  guessed 
her  neighbors  could  bear  to  see  it. 

Mar  Baker  had  been  a  widow  for  thirty  years 
now.  'Zias  was  her  only  child,  and  the  father 
had  died  three  months  before  the  birth  of  this 
son.  She  was  as  keen  looking  in  her  way  as 
the  terrier  was  in  his,  and  in  alertness  reminded 
me  of  him. 

I  used  to  look  at  her  and  wonder  how  she 
learned  to  bear  it,  when,  years  ago,  she  had 
hoped  this  child  would  be  a  comfort  to  her,  and 
when  each  day  told  her  more  emphatically  than 
the  day  before  had  done  that  he  was  "  different." 
And  he  grew  more  and  more  different  as  time 
went  on ;  instead  of  growing  brighter  he  grew 
less  bright.  He  was  not  an  idiot,  but  that's 
what  everybody  called  him,  and  he  certainly 
had  very  little  mind.  He  required  to  be  con- 
trolled and  directed  constantly.  He  had  a  per- 
fectly smooth  face,  and  his  voice  was  an  exact 
56 


Orlando  and  Ozias 

reproduction  of  his  mother's  voice.  He  had 
called  his  mother  "mar"  for  so  many  years 
that  everybody  called  her  Mar  Baker  now,  even 
"to  her  face." 

"I  tell  you,  Mar  Baker  's  had  a  tough  time," 
said  a  store-keeper  at  "  The  Cut ' '  to  me.  *'  You 
know  her  husband,  'Zias,  was  killed  by  a  stone 
fallin'  on  him.  He  was  a  stone  mason.  He 
was  brought  home  dead  to  her.  I  d'  know  's 
she  's  ever  cried  a  drop  for  him.  My  wife  don't 
think  she  has,  'n'  I  don't  think  so  neither. 
I '  ve  heerd  tell  that  cryin'  's  'nough  sight  better  'n 
not  cryin'  when  you  're  in  trouble.  Lizzie 
Marks,  that 's  what  she  used  ter  be,  was  kinder 
pooty,  for  them  as  likes  these  small  women,  'n' 
'Zias  was  awfully  in  love  with  her.  They  was 
marrit  jest  two  years.  How  she  gits  a  livin'  I  d' 
know,  for  she  never  would  take  help  any  way 
'less  she  worked  and  paid  for  it.  She  said  she 
knew  what  her  husband's  'pinions  of  paupers 
was,  and  she  wa'n't  goin'  to  be  a  pauper.  Oh, 
yes,  she  '11  do  any  kind  er  work,  and  glad  to." 

This  was  what  I  had  heard  about  Mar  Baker, 
and  now  she  stood  at  our  door.  She  had  just 
told  us  that  'Zias  would  jest  as  lives  take  our 
57 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

letters  to  the  post-office  and  bring  ours  from 
there.  She  said  there  was  nobody  more  faithful 
than  he  was  about  some  kinds  of  arrants,  and 
letters  was  what  he  was  sure  on.  He  'd  carried 
them  for  neighbors  for  years  and  never  met  with 
no  accident. 

He  grinned  eagerly  while  his  mother  said 
this.  We  sent  him  off  with  our  personal  about 
Orlando,  while  his  mother  sat  down  on  the 
door-step  and  fanned  herself  with  her  apron. 


V 

MOWING   THE   DIKE 

MAR  BAKER  fanned  herself  for  some  time 
with  so  much  vigor  and  so  much  mus- 
cular action  that  I  grew  warm  just  looking  at 
her.  She  was  sitting  in  the  door-way,  and 
Orlando  had  planted  himself  on  his  diminutive 
haunches  a  few  feet  from  her  and  was  panting 
and  watching  her  narrowly.  Occasionally  she 
dropped  a  corner  of  her  apron,  which  she  was 
using  as  a  fan,  and  extended  her  hand  toward 
the  terrier,  remarking  "good  doggie"  as  she 
did  so,  in  that  way  people  who  do  not  like  dogs 
assume  when  in  their  presence  and  in  the  pres- 
ence also  of  the  canine's  friends.  When  she 
called  him  good  doggie  Orlando  would  stop 
panting  for  a  flash  of  time,  as  if  he  could  thus 
better  examine  a  person  who  addressed  him  in 
such  a  silly  manner. 

"I   seen  this  dog  a  ha'ntin'  round  on    the 
dike  a  good  while  'fore  you  come,"   said  Mar 
59 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

Baker.  "  I  should  er  give  him  some  old  victuals, 
only  all  our  scraps  go  to  the  hens.  I  've  always 
thought  he  might  b'long  to  a  carry-all  of  fine 
folks  as  come  ridin'  by  a  week  or  so  'fore  you 
brought  your  things  down.  I  can't  tell  why  I 
took  that  notion,  but  I  did  take  it,  and  'Zias 
thought  the  same.  But  then  there's  a  good 
many  high-flyers  travellin'  about  to  see  the 
Webster  place  and  so  on." 

We  listened  to  her  with  fear  in  our  hearts. 
What  if  some  high-flyers  in  a  carry-all  should 
come  out  on  to  the  dike  and  claim  our  terrier  ? 
But  there  was  comfort  in  the  conviction,  which 
came  immediately  after  this  fear,  that  whoever 
tried  to  get  to  the  dike  would  wish  he  had  not 
made  the  attempt,  and  it  would  be  an  exasperat- 
ing failure.  Orlando  was  safe  to  remain  with 
us  as  long  as  we  did  not  go  off  the  dike.  It 
might  be  we  should  always  live  on  this  flat. 
Reasons  for  such  a  residence  seemed  to  thicken 
around  us. 

"  When  do  ye  calkilate  to  strike  on  the  grass  ? " 
inquired  Mar  Baker. 

We  told  her  we  expected  Mr.  Peake  to  come 
with  men  and  a  mowing-machine  to-morrow. 
60 


Mowing  the  Dike 

She  turned  quickly  toward  us. 

"You  don't  mean  Rodge  Peake's  goin'  to 
git  yer  grass  for  ye  ? " 

Yes,  we  meant  that.  Was  anything  the  matter 
with  Rodge  Peake  that  he  shouldn't  do  this  for 
us? 

Mar  Baker's  nipped-in  mouth  closed  with  a 
snap,  and  she  positively  refused  to  say  anything 
more  than  that  she  always  made  it  a  rule  never 
to  talk  about  her  neighbors. 

Having  said  this  she  went  on  in  a  general 
way  to  tell  about  the  whole  family  of  Peakes. 
Whenever  she  made  a  positive  assertion  she 
would  immediately  qualify  it  to  such  a  degree 
that  it  amounted  to  nothing,  and  we  began  to 
grow  confused.  She  said  she  s' posed  the  Peakes 
knew  what  they  was  about  when  they  had  that 
niece  er  Miss  Peake's  come  there  to  live.  She  'd 
nothin'  agin  the  gal  for  her  part.  In  fact  she 
was  one  er  them  kinder  gals  that  made  er  warm 
spot  in  yer  heart  when  she  looked  at  ye  'n' 
spoke  to  ye,  'n'  ye  didn't  know  why.  'N' 
though  her  father  was  er  Southerner  'n'  she  was 
born  down  there,  she  was  faculized.  She  could 
do  most  things  she  set  out  ter  do.  Mar  Baker 
6l 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

guessed  it  was  the  Yankee  blood  in  her  that  made 
her  smart.  When  she  got  upon  the  subject  of 
"  Miss  Peake's  niece"  she  stopped  qualifying. 

We  asked  why  the  Peakes  shouldn't  have 
the  girl  there.  Our  guest  fanned  more  vigorously 
than  ever  and  looked  mysterious.  At  last  she 
answered  that  she  was  n'  t  thinkin'  of  the  Peakes 
when  she  said  that ;  she  was  thinkin'  of  the  gal. 

These  words  but  added  to  the  uncertainty  in 
our  minds.  Was  it  going  to  hurt  the  girl  to 
stay  there  ? 

Mrs.  Baker  again  nipped  in  her  mouth  and 
looked  across  the  flat.  Then  she  brought  her 
eyes  back  to  us  and  opened  her  mouth  to  say 
that  there  was  young  Peake.  He'd  ben  nigh 
bein'  turned  outer  college,  they  said,  'n'  he 
might  be  home  any  minute.  Here  she  began 
to  qualify  again.  "  But  7  ain't  nothin'  agin 
young  Peake.  I  d'  know  's  he  'smuch  ter  blame 
considerin'  who  his  father  is.  But  I  ain't  er 
sayin'  his  father  ain't  good  'nough. 

"I  s'pose  Leife'll  be  to  home  any  day 
now." 

"Who  is  Leife?" 

"I  thought  ye  knew.  He's  Peake's  son, 
62 


Mowing  the  Dike 

Eliphalet.  He  never  's  called  nothin'  but  Leife. 
I  will  say  he 's  er  young  man  as  loves  his 
mother.  He  *n*  his  father  set  their  eyes  by 
Miss  Peake.  Leife  could  n't  think  no  more  of 
her  if  she  was  his  own  mother.  You  know 
he  's  Mr.  Peake's  first  wife's  son." 

Here  the  speaker  sighed  heavily  and  was 
silent.  We  kept  silence  also,  feeling  that  this 
woman  was  thinking  of  her  own  past,  and  how 
all  its  promises  of  love  and  happiness  had  failed. 

When  she  spoke  again  it  was  to  utter  unex- 
plained condolences  because  we  had  engaged 
Mr.  Peake  to  get  in  our  hay. 

She  ended  by  asserting  again  that  she  always 
made  it  a  rule  never  to  talk  about  her  neighbors. 

Very  soon  after  making  this  statement  she 
went  home,  leaving  us  a  prey  to  vague  and  mor- 
bid apprehensions.  What  would  Rodge  Peake 
do  to  our  grass?  What,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
could  he  do  to  it  ?  These  questions  presented 
themselves,  mingled  with  random  inquiries 
about  Leife  and  the  Southern  niece',  in  all  kinds 
of  grotesque  forms  in  our  dreams  through  the 
night. 

In  the  hours  when  we  tossed  on  our  bunks 
63 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

we  felt,  more  than  ever  before,  what  a  dreadful 
thing  it  is  to  be  at  once  women  and  the  owners 
of  standing  grass. 

But  at  five  o'clock  we  were  cheered  by  hear- 
ing a  great  deal  of  loud  talk  to  horses,  and  a 
jumble  of  men's  voices  mixed  with  Orlando's 
incessant  barking. 

Rodge  Peake  had  come  with  three  other  men, 
two  horses,  and  a  mowing  machine.  He  greeted 
us  with  great  heartiness,  said  he  was  going  to  run 
the  machine  that  day,  and  the  other  men  would 
spread  and  turn  when  they  "  wa'n't  mowin  ' 
round  the  aidges."  My  friend  expressed  a  dis- 
belief in  any  "  aidges  "  to  that  dike  ;  she  averred 
it  was  one  continuous  sweep,  like  any  other 
infinite  extent. 

Mr.  Peake  was  very  brisk  and  very  jolly.  He 
said  he  guessed  we  should  find  there  was  a  good 
deal  more  aidge  to  the  dike  than  we  seemed  to 
think  now  'fore  we  got  through  with  it. 

Then  he  turned  and  called  to  one  of  the  men 
who  were  taking  scythes,  rakes,  and  forks  from 
the  cart. 

"  Leife,"  he  said,  "come  here  'n'  be  intro- 
duced to  these  ladies  that  own  this  dike." 
64 


Mowing  the  Dike 

The  youngest  man  in  the  group  came  for- 
ward and  took  off  his  hat,  standing  easily  before 
us,  as  his  father,  with  great  pride,  informed  us 
that  this  was  his  only  son,  in  fact,  all  the  chick 
or  child  he  had. 

The  only  son  bowed  but  did  not  attempt  to 
make  any  remark.  He  was  rather  good  looking, 
closely  knit,  with  square  shoulders  ;  what  might 
be  called  a  "  flat-backed  young  fellow,"  with 
muscles  well  trained. 

He  did  not  appear  to  share  the  general  eager- 
ness to  see  us.  Probably  he  had  other  subjects 
to  occupy  his  mind.  Whether  rightly  or  not, 
we  had  interpreted  Mrs.  Baker's  words  as  mean- 
ing that  "  Leife  "  was  dissipated  in  some  way. 
Perhaps  he  was ;  but  his  brown  face  did  not  bear 
the  usual  marks  made  by  dissipation.  He  was 
very  wide  between  the  eyes  and  square  about  the 
jaws.  He  wore  no  beard  and  his  face  suggested 
the  word  "massive."  His  faults,  whatever  they 
were,  did  not  come  from  weakness  of  will. 
His  face  was  a  great  contrast  to  that  of  his 
father,  whose  chin  was  so  far  from  squareness 
that  it  almost  had  a  childish  look. 

The  whir  of  the  machine  had  been  going  on 
5  65 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

for  an  hour  before  we  remembered  that  we  had 
promised  Mar  Baker's  son  that  he  should  rake 
after.  It  was  an  engagement  that  must  not  be 
broken.  We  could  not  be  the  cause  that  should 
prevent  Ozias  from  earning  some  money  that  he 
might  buy  ice-cream  therewith,  even  at  the  risk 
of  colic  to  the  buyer. 

I  rushed  out  of  the  shanty,  followed  tumultu- 
ously  by  Orlando.  I  signalled  to  Mr.  Peake, 
who  sat  enthroned  on  his  machine.  He  saw 
me,  and  down  went  the  brake,  if  that  is  the 
name  of  it.  The  horses  stopped. 

"Wall?"  he  said,  evidently  expecting  nothing 
better  from  women  than  that  they  should  stop 
him  in  the  middle  of  his  work  every  moment  or 
two. 

I  told  him  we  had  engaged  Ozias  to  rake 
after,  and  that  I  would  go  after  him  on  the 
instant. 

Rodge  Peake' s  face  contracted  into  a  frown. 

"  Oh  —  thunder  !  "  he  said,  evidently  having 
begun  to  say  something  else,  but  out  of  respect 
to  me  changing  his  exclamation.  I  was  grate- 
ful for  his  forbearance,  and  I  proceeded  to  explain 
that  I  knew  he  had  taken  the  work  and  was  to 
66 


Mowing  the  Dike 

hire  the  men,  but  that  I  pitied  '  Zias,  and  —  I  don't 
know  how  much  further  I  should  have  extended 
my  remarks  had  not  Mr.  Peake  cried  out  with 
still  more  irritation,  "  Of  course  I  know  all  'bout 
that !  But  what  I  want  to  know  is,  be  ye  pre- 
pared to  have  this  dike  o'  yourn  strowed  round 
with  toes,  and  p'raps  feet  'n'  legs;  'n'  Id' 
know  but  heads  'n'  shoulders  ? " 

As  he  asked  this  gory  question  I  looked  at  him 
in  silence.  It  did  not  seem  necessary  that  I 
should  tell  him  in  words  that  it  was  sufficient  to 
have  a  dike,  without  having  it  "strowed  "  in  that 
way. 

"  'Cause,"  he  went  on,  "  likely  's  not  that 's 
the  way  it  '11  be  if  you  have  '  Zias  to  rake  after. 
I  had  him  on  my  dike  the  fust  summer  I  got  in 
hay  there.  I  did  n't  know  any  better  then.  I 
never  suffered  s'  much  in  my  life  's  I  did  tryin' 
ter  keep  that  critter  away  from  the  knives.  As 
't  was,  the  best  I  could  do  I  couldn't  help  his 
gettin'  the  tips  er  two  toes  on  his  right  foot 
clipped  off  smoother 'n  time.  Didn't  'mount 
ter  much,  but  they  bled,  'n'  somebody  run  for 
Mar  Baker,  'n'  she  looked  at  me 's  if  I'd  done 
it  a  purpose.  He  was  barefooted,  'n'  by 
67 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

George  !  how  the  knives  clicked  along  onter  his 
foot !  What  I  wanter  know  is,  who's  goin'  to 
be  responsible  for  Mar  Baker's  idjit's  feet  if  he 
comes  on  to  this  job  ? ' ' 

I  did  not  feel  as  if  I  could  be  responsible. 
Before  I  could  say  this,  however,  Mr.  Peake 
resumed  in  a  still  more  explanatory  manner :  — 

"  You  see  '  Zias,  he  is  bewitched  to  git  close 
ter  the  machine.  He  won't  keep  away  from  it. 
If  yer  business  is  to  rake  after,  you  ain't  no  busi- 
ness skulkin'  'round  these  knives.  He  's  weaker- 
minded,  I  do  believe,  'bout  a  mowin'  machine 
than  he  is  about  another  created  thing  on  God's 
earth.  Now,  you  c'n  do  jest  as  you  think  best, 
only  you  must  understand  that  I  ain't  responsi- 
ble. I  will  say,  if  I  know  he  's  on  the  dike, 
even  to  t'other  end  of  it,  my  backbone  begins 
ter  creep  'n'  creep,  if  I'm  on  this  machine. 
G  'lang  !  Git  up  !  "  These  last  words  were 
spoken  to  his  horses  in  token  that  this  interview 
was  at  an  end.  But  I  pressed  still  nearer.  Mr. 
Peake  tried  to  look  resigned  as  he  let  his  horses 
stand  still. 

"  I  hate  to  disappoint  such  a  creature  as  he 
is,"  I  said.  "  I  suppose  there  is  no  objection 
68 


Mowing  the  Dike 

to  his  coming  on  the  field  when  you  are  not 
mowing  ? ' ' 

"  Jes's  you  say,"  answered  Mr.  Peake  ;  and 
this  time  the  horses  started  up  and  the  machine 
began  to  click.  I  was  left  standing  in  the  midst 
of  the  fallen  grass,  which  sent  up  its  fresh  fragrance 
to  me.  But  I  could  not  be  soothed.  It  seemed 
peculiarly  appropriate  that,  at  that  moment,  from 
out  in  the  direction  where  I  heard  the  waves 
rolling,  I  should  also  hear  a  loon  laugh. 

I  began  wading  in  the  tall,  uncut  grass  toward 
the  road.  I  had  it  in  mind  that  I  would  see 
Mar  Baker,  though  I  did  not  know  what  I 
should  say  to  her.  Of  only  one  thing  I  was 
sure ;  I  must  not  be  the  means  of  depriving 
'  Zias  of  his  ice-cream  at  the  Brant ;  and  I  was 
well  convinced  that  he  would  not  be  allowed  to 
receive  that  dainty  through  any  eleemosynary 
channel. 

When  I  clambered  at  last  over  the  wall  that 
separated  the  dike  from  the  road,  I  had  come  to 
no  decision  other  than  the  vague  one  that  I 
would  be  guided  by  circumstances. 

The  door  of  the  little  green  house  was  open. 
There  was  nothing  between  me  and  its  occupants 
69 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

but  a  screen  of  mosquito  netting  tacked  on  some 
laths,  which  had  been  put  together  with  a  pain- 
ful and  only  partly  successful  imitation  of  a 
screen-frame.  As  I  came  close  to  the  door  I 
heard  the  voices  of  mother  and  son ;  and,  though 
hearing  them  together,  I  could  not  distinguish 
one  from  the  other  ;  the  words  enlightened 
me. 


70 


VI 

AT   MAR   BAKER'S 

OOMEBODY  was  whimpering  and  snuffling 
O  like  a  child  who  is  getting  ready  to  have  a 
good  cry.  I  stood  on  the  door-step.  For  a 
wonder  Orlando  stood  by  in  perfect  quietness ; 
his  ears  were  pricked  up,  and  he  was  looking  at 
me  as  if  asking  if  I  thought  that  person  would 
really  cry,  after  all. 

I  glanced  through  the  netting.  I  saw  'Zias 
standing  at  a  table  before  a  pan  of  peas.  He 
was  almost  covered  by  a  long  calico  "  tire."  His 
face  was  snarled  and  twisted,  and  his  under  lip 
was  hanging  loose  and  trembling.  He  was 
shelling  peas  in  a  slow,  perfunctory  fashion. 

Before  I  knocked  I  looked  at  the  mother.  I 
had  never  before  seen  on  any  face  such  an  ex- 
pression of  determined  endurance.  It  was  set 
and  hard,  but  set  and  hard  only  that  the  owner 
might  keep  her  grip  on  her  sanity  and  her  duty. 
71 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

If  she  softened  in  one  degree  she  dared  not  meet 
the  result.  In  that  moment  I  knew  it  was  the  look 
which  her  face  wore  when  she  was  at  home  ; 
the  look  which  had  grown  with  thirty  years  of 
the  life  she  had  lived  since  her  husband,  who  had 
been  "  awfully  in  love  with  her,"  had  been 
brought  to  her  dead.  And  there  was  her  only 
child,  standing  with  towering,  imbecile  head, 
opposite  her,  and  only  keeping  at  his  task  be- 
cause she  watched  him.  She  was  kneading 
dough  on  a  "  cake-board  "  laid  on  the  table. 

"'Zias,"  she  said,  "if you 're  goin'  to  cry 
'bout  it,  I  d'  know  what  I  shall  do  !  If  I  could 
rake  after  with  ye,  't  would  be  different,  but  ye 
know  I  must  do  that  washin'  'n'  ironin'." 

Then  I  knocked,  and  Orlando  barked. 

'Zias  immediately  stopped  whimpering,  in  his 
eagerness  to  know  who  had  come.  Mar  Baker 
took  her  hands  from  the  dough,  spatted  them 
violently  together  to  shake  off  the  flour,  and 
came  toward  the  door ;  she  was  followed  by 
her  son,  who  had  absently  seized  a  handful  of 
shelled  peas  as  he  started,  and  who  as  absently 
dropped  them  on  the  floor  when  he  saw  me. 

"It's  so  hard  ter  git  this  screen  open  and 
72 


At  Mar  Baker's 

shet,"  said  Mrs.  Baker  after  she  had  greeted  me, 
"  that  I  sh'll  have  ter  ask  ye  to  go  round  to  the 
back  door." 

When  I  reached  the  back  door  she  was  there, 
with  the  head  of  Ozias  rising  high  behind  her. 
She  was  holding  the  door  open  a  few  inches  and 
saying  that,  if  I  had  n't  no  objections,  she  guessed 
she'd  let  the  dog  stay  outside.  She  always  was 
kinder  'fraid  er  mad  dogs  somehow.  I  indig- 
nantly assured  her  that  Orlando  was  not  mad, 
but  that  he  could  stay  outside.  She  now  put 
back  the  door  just  far  enough  for  me  to  squeeze 
in,  which  I  did  hurriedly,  lest  Orlando  might 
come  too.  He  did  make  the  attempt,  and  at 
the  same  time  '  Zias  flung  a  handful  of  pea-pods 
at  him. 

When  I  was  safely  in  the  bit  of  a  room,  Mar 
Baker  said  she  had  noticed  that  folks  always  did 
say  their  own  dogs  wa'n't  mad,  but  she  never 
seen  one  yet  but  what  was  jest  as  liable  as  could 
be  to  run  mad  any  minute.  For  her  part  she 
liked  dogs,  but  she  liked  'em  in  their  places,  and 
would  n't  I  set  down  ? 

I  sat  down,  and  she  resumed  her  bread  mould- 
ing. 'Zias,  taking  advantage  of  the  presence  of 
73 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

a  visitor,  did  not  go  on  with  his  work,  but  stood 
up,  his  head  just  grazing  the  ceiling,  his  arms 
a-kimbo,  looking  at  me.  Before  I  could  think 
how  to  begin  my  errand  he  broke  out  :  — 

"  I  say  now,  mar,  I  guess  she  's  come  ter  git 
me  ter  rake  after.  You  '11  let  rne  go,  won't  yer  ?  " 

The  small  woman  bent  her  head  lower  over 
her  dough.  I  said  I  did  come  about  the  haying, 
but  that  there  was  n'  t  any  need  to  rake  after 
until  they  began  to  cock  up  the  hay  at  night,  and 
also  when  they  put  it  on  the  cart  for  the  barn. 

"But  I  oughter  be  on  the  dike  so  to  be 
ready  ;  mar  !  mar  !  "  With  this  cry  the  tall 
being  again  began  to  make  signs  of  crying. 

Scarcely  knowing  what  J  did,  I  rose  and 
walked  to  the  window.  I  looked  out  on  the 
wide  flats  in  silence.  In  summer  and  winter 
Mar  Baker  had  the  flats  to  look  at  from  her 
house.  In  summer  the  hue  was  deep  green,  with, 
toward  the  ocean,  the  diamond-like  sparkle  of 
the  steep,  sliding  cliffs  of  white  sand.  In  winter 
there  was  rarely  much  snow,  and  the  great, 
desolate  stretches  were  dark  and  sullen  under  the 
sharp  sunlight ;  and  within,  no  live  creature 
but  her  boy.  This  was  what  she  knew  of  life  ; 
74 


At  Mar  Baker's 

this  and  the  never-ceasing  struggle  not  to  be  a 
pauper,  for  she  remembered  "  what  her  husband 
used  to  think  of  paupers." 

As  I  stood  there  I  felt  a  slight  touch  on  my 
arm.  Looking  hastily  round  and  down,  I  saw 
Mrs.  Baker  close  to  me. 

She  glanced  out  and  said  aloud,  "Shouldn't 
wonder  if  you  got  a  shower  on  yer  grass  'fore 
night ;  "  then  in  a  hasty  whisper,  "  'T  ain't  safe 
for  him  ;  say  you  don't  want  him." 

As  she  went  back  to  the  table  'Zias  came  for- 
ward. His  small  nature  was  capable  of  being 
suspicious. 

"  Mar,  what  ye  whisp'rin'  about?  "  he  asked 
whiningly . 

"  Don't  be  silly,  'Zias  ;  I  ain't  a  whisp'rin'," 
answered  his  mother,  promptly. 

He  turned  to  me,  and  began  to  laugh  a  little 
as  he  asked  how  much  I  would  give  him  an  hour 
for  rakin'  after ;  and  he  added  immediately  that 
he  guessed  he  liked  lemon  ice-cream  'bout 's 
well 's  any. 

"  I  came   over    to  say  I  thought  I  would  put 
you  on  some  other  job,"  I  made  answer,  won- 
dering  what  on  earth  the  other  job  would  be. 
75 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

The  mother  glanced  gratefully  at  me,  but  the 
vapid  face  of  the  son  clouded  over. 

"I'd  ruther  rake  after,"  he  said,  "  'specially 
if  there's  a  merchine  somewheres  round." 

"'Zias!"  said  Mrs.  Baker  severely,  and  the 
long  form  shrank  back  and  seemed  to  double  up. 

I  was  trying  frantically  to  think  of  what  other 
work  I  could  find  for  '  Zias,  but  the  more  I  tried 
the  blanker  my  mind  was.  I  went  toward  the 
door.  I  paused  and  said  I  would  let  'Zias 
know  by  to-morrow ;  that  he  should  have  a 
chance  to  earn  his  ice-cream.  Mrs.  Baker 
looked  up  at  me.  To  her  face  there  came  an 
indescribable  expression  that  for  the  first  time 
made  it  possible  for  me  to  believe  that  she  "  had 
ben  pooty  once." 

What  she  said  was,  "I'm  sure  I'm  very 
much  obleeged  to  ye." 

As  I  turned  to  go  the  door  was  opened  from 
the  outside,  and  there  entered  the  girl  who  was 
said  to  be  "  Rodge  Peake's  wife's  niece."  It 
was  rather  strange  that  I  had  not  yet  heard  her 
name  mentioned  by  any  one.  She  seemed  to 
me  decidedly  worthy  to  be  designated  more 
accurately.  I  knew  her,  for  she  was  the  one 
76 


At  Mar  Baker's 

who  had  done  us  the  doubtful  favor  of  unhar- 
nessing. She  knew  me  also,  for  her  warm 
smile  had  recognition  in  it. 

Mrs.  Baker,  with  the  liking  for  "  making 
introductions  ' '  so  characteristic  of  most  country 
people,  hastened  to  mention  our  names. 

She  called  the  girl  Miss  Vance,  and  Miss 
Vance  offered  her  hand. 

Orlando  seized  the  moment  of  this  ceremony 
to  rush  in  past  our  ankles  and  begin  to  make 
havoc  with  the  pan  of  pea-pods  which  Ozias 
had  thoughtlessly  set  on  the  floor.  While  I 
was  rescuing  the  pea-pods  and  chastising  the 
wicked  Yorkshire,  I  heard  Miss  Vance's  lan- 
guid voice  telling  Mrs.  Baker  that  there  was  no 
need  for  her  to  hurry  about  that  washing  after  all, 
any  day  this  week  would  do.  The  girl  said  she 
thought  she  would  come  and  tell  her,  so  that  Mrs. 
Baker  might  take  up  other  work  if  she  wished. 

I  rose  to  an  upright  position  with  Orlando 
in  my  arms  in  time  to  see  the  expression  of  keen 
liking  and  of  gratitude  on  the  little  widow's  face 
as  she  looked  at  the  tall  girl. 

"The  land's  sake!"  exclaimed  Mar  Baker, 
'*  I'm  glad  you  told  me,  for  now  I  c'n  finish 
77 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

that  slop  work  'fore  I  wash.  It  was  kind  of  ye, 
Miss  Vance." 

Miss  Vance  laughed  softly.  She  had  seated 
herself  and  was  leaning  far  back  in  her  chair 
with  her  feet  pushed  out  in  front.  She  glanced 
at  me. 

"  If  Mrs.  Baker  compliments  me,  don't 
believe  her,"  she  said;  "I'm  too  lazy  to  be 
good.  Now  to-day,  for  instance,  I'm  so  lazy 
that  I  told  aunt  I  could  not  stay  in  the  house. 
I  want  to  be  out  in  the  hot  sun.  Some  people 
are  afraid  of  it.  I  love  it  hot  —  hot.  I  am 
going  up  on  the  hills  to  pick  green  huckleberries 
to  make  a  pie.  Aunt  has  not  much  appetite, 
you  know,  —  at  least  Mrs.  Baker  knows,"  — 
turning  to  that  person  who  was  now  knead- 
ing dough  ferociously  in  her  haste.  "  She 
thought  a  green-huckleberry  pie  would  be  nice. 
Perhaps  'Zias  would  like  to  go  with  me  and 
pick  some  for  you.  I  sha'n't  hurry.  We 
shall  be  gone  a  good  while.  I  have  a  lunch 
with  me.  We  will  sit  up  there  in  the  melting 
sunshine,  and  smell  the  sweet  fern  and  look  at 
the  sea.  Are  you  ready,  '  Zias  ?" 

'Zias  was  in  a  tremor  of  excitement.  He 
78 


At  Mar  Baker's 

tried  in  vain  to  unfasten  his  tire  in  the  back. 
I,  being  near,  stood  on  tiptoe  and  did  this  for 
him  just  as  he  began  to  cry,  "  Mar !  Mar  !  " 

He  took  his  hat  from  a  peg.  He  said  he 
was  ready,  and  what  was  Miss  Vance  er  waitin' 
for? 

Miss  Vance  did  not  wait.  She  rose  from  her 
chair,  told  Mrs.  Baker  that  she  need  not  worry 
if  she  did  not  see  'Zias  till  sundown,  and  then 
the  two  walked  off,  'Zias  having  taken  from 
another  peg  in  the  bit  of  an  entry  a  two-quart 
"  rind  "  in  which  to  put  his  berries. 

I  looked  at  Mrs.  Baker,  who  was,  now  tossing  a 
portion  of  dough  back  and  forth  in  her  hands 
preparatory  to  putting  it  in  one  of  the  buttered 
tins  in  readiness  on  the  stove  hearth. 

Although  her  face  was  not  a  speaking  one 
and  although  she  was  silent,  I  yet  felt  keenly 
her  own  emotion  of  relief  and  thankfulness  that 
her  son  would  be  safely  out  of  the  way  for 
several  hours. 

Again  I  started  to  go,  and  this  time  nothing 
hindered  my  departure. 

As  I  opened  the  door  Orlando  rushed  outside 
and  began  to  bark  vociferously.  I  instantly 
79 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

feared  that  somebody  was  claiming  him,  and 
that  he  was  resenting  the  fact.  Naturally  our 
continual  fear  was  that  his  owner  would  come, 
and  that  we  could  not  prove  the  claim  false. 

As  I  put  my  foot  on  the  doorstep,  Mrs. 
Baker  said  she  guessed  he  was  running  mad,  and 
she  kept  carefully  on  her  side  of  the  door,  thrust- 
ing her  head  out  of  a  small  aperture  in  the  most 
cautious  manner. 

By  this  time  my  acquaintance  with  Orlando 
had  taught  me  that,  though  he  always  barked 
when  there  was  real  occasion,  he  also  always 
barked  when  there  was  no  occasion  at  all,  beyond 
that  provided  by  his  own  fertile  imagination. 

He  was  now  standing  at  the  roadside  in  front 
of  the  house,  his  small  body  quivering  with  his 
protective  and  belligerent  efforts,  as  he  gazed  per- 
sistently in  one  direction.  I  looked  in  the  same 
direction  and  saw  a  beautiful  horse  saddled,  a 
beautiful  young  man  dismounted  and  tightening 
the  girths.  The  young  man  had  a  hooked  riding- 
stick  under  his  arm  ;  he  had  on  corduroy  leg- 
gings, russet  foot- covering,  a  velvet  coat,  a  jockey 
cap,  and  immense  long  yellow  buckskin  gaunt- 
lets. I  was  so  dazzled  as  I  looked  at  him  that 
80 


At  Mar  Baker's 

I  wanted  to  shade  my  eyes  from  his  effulgence. 
I  have  neglected  to  state  that  he  also  wore  a 
long  yellow  moustache,  and  a  divine  little  tuft 
of  beard  on  his  chin,  trimmed  down  to  a  point 
that  gave  the  last  degree  of  bewitchment  to  his 
appearance. 

As  I  stood,  bereft  of  any  power  of  motion, 
given  over  wholly  to  admiration,  this  young 
man  finished  adjusting  the  strap,  turned  and  saw 
me.  He  led  his  horse  nearer,  Orlando  sud- 
denly sitting  down  on  his  haunches  and  growling 
dangerously. 

The  stranger  took  off  his  cap. 

"I  beg  pawdon,"  said  he,  "but  can  you 
direct  me  to  what  they  call  the  dike  ?  " 

"  That 's  what  they  call  the  dike,"  I  said, 
pointing. 

"  Thanks  —  so  much,"  returned  the  un- 
known, and  swung  himself  into  the  saddle. 

"  But  you  can't  ride  on  to  it  from  here," 
I  went  on,  conscious  of  a  great  deal  of  uncouth- 
ness  in  myself.  "You  must  go  back  to  the 
Webster  place  and  inquire  for  the  gate." 
Then,  impelled  by  curiosity,  I  asked  him  if  he 
had  bought  any  dike. 

6  81 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"Bought  any?"  he  repeated.  "No;  why 
should  I  buy  dike  ?  " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  I  returned,  "  but 
there  's  a  good  deal  for  sale." 

"  Ah  !  Is  it  possible  ?  I  hope  your  dog 
won't  frighten  my  horse.  It 's  the  Jo  Tilden 
dike  I  want." 

Orlando  had  made  a  dive  at  the  horse's  heels. 

"I  hope  your  horse  won't  kick  my  dog,"  I 
answered.  Then  I  told  him  that  he  must  go 
back  to  that  gate,  unless  he  wanted  to  go  to  the 
Brant  and  come  across  the  cut  in  a  boat. 

He  thanked  me  again.  He  pulled  up  his 
gloves.  He  said  he  was  awfully  sorry  to  have 
given  me  so  much  trouble ;  then  he  cantered 
away  along  the  white  road,  the  dust  flying  about 
him. 

Up  at  my  left,  in  a  field  (hat  rose  gradually 
toward  the  old  pastures  where  horse  briers  grew 
and  thickets  of  sumach,  and  where  the  stunted 
savins  and  pitch  pines  all  bent  to  the  west  be- 
cause of  the  east  wind,  I  saw  two  figures,  one 
tall  and  almost  swaying  over  from  its  slender 
height ;  the  other  that  of  a  girl  wearing  a  broad 
hat,  and  who  swung  a  tin  pail  as  she  walked. 
82 


At  Mar  Baker's 

They  were  not  very  far  away ;  and,  as  I  looked, 
the  girl  turned,  I  imagined  to  see  if  the  ocean 
were  yet  visible.  She  saw  me,  and  called  to  ask 
if  I  would  go  with  them,  at  the  same  time  fling- 
ing up  the  pail  toward  me.  Her  voice  was 
lusciously  sweet  as  it  came  down  the  warm  air. 

The  young  man  cantering  in  the  dust  heard 
it  and  looked.  He  lifted  his  cap  with  great 
deference  and  a  touch  of  gay  defiance. 

Miss  Vance  plainly  had  not  seen  him  until 
he  made  his  salutation.  She  gave  no  response  to 
it,  and  continued  her  journey  after  my  shouted 
refusal  of  her  invitation. 

As  fast  as  I  could,  I  climbed  back  over  the 
wall,  the  loose  mossy  stones  moving  dangerously 
as  I  climbed.  I  went  swishing  through  the 
grass,  forgetting  to  try  to  think  of  something  for 
Mar  Baker's  idjit  to  do,  remembering  only  what 
a  magnificent  young  man  was  on  his  way  to  Jo 
Tilden's  dike,  and  that  Jo  Tilden's  dike  was  our 
dike. 

When  I  told  my  friend,  she  dropped  her  novel 
and  cried  out,  "  It 's  the  dog  ! ' ' 

"  But  he  and  Orlando  did  not  know  each 
other,"  I  asserted. 

83 


VII 

AN   ORDER   FOR    BUMONGE 

"  ~\  T  THEN  a  young  man  with  a  head  the 
VV  size  of  a  cocoanut,  and  a  forehead 
the  width  and  breadth  of  my  two  fingers  comes 
down  to  Ma'shfield  'cause  he  wanted  to  fish  'n' 
hunt  where  Daniel  Webster  used  to,  it  don't 
seem  like  the  'ternal  fitness  of  things,  somehow. 
But  I  guess  he  won't  amount  to  much  with  his 
gun  and  rod,  or  anything  else,  at  present." 

The  speaker  was  leaning  forward  from  the 
seat  of  an  old  buggy  which  was  drawn  by  a 
horse  that,  the  instant  it  was  allowed  to  stop, 
seemed  to  droop  into  weak  curves  in  all  its  limbs 
as  it  waited. 

The  woman  in  the  buggy  had  driven  across 
the  dike  up  to  our  shanty  as  being  the  nearest 
house  at  which  to  ask  for  a  roll  of  cotton  batting 
that  could  aid  in  setting  a  broken  arm.  It 
seemed  that  the  effulgent  young  man  in  riding- 
84 


An  Order  for  Bumonge 

dress  had  come  to  bitter  grief  after  he  had  entered 
the  gate  leading  to  the  dike.  He  had  been 
thrown  from  the  saddle,  and  this  woman  told  us 
he  was  in  an  awful  way  as  to  his  insides,  besides 
having  no  end  of  broken  bones.  "  He  was  taken 
right  into  Mrs.  Grant's,  and  there  he  'd  have  to 
stay  one  while,"  the  speaker  guessed.  She'd 
been  calling  to  Mrs.  Grant's  when  it  happened, 
and  "she'd  driven  right  off'n'  got  the  doctor, 
'n'  now  she  was  sent  for  cotton  battin',  and  she 
s'posed  she  mustn't  stop  a  minute."  But  the 
temptation  to  give  us  more  details  of  the  accident 
was  so  strong  that  she  allowed  her  horse  to 
remain  drooped  while  she  said  "  she  never  seen 
nothin'  go  off  'm  a  horse  as  he  did,  'n'  she 
didn't  believe  them  leggin's  or  them  yeller  gloves 
would  ever  be  fit  to  wear  again.  The  feller  was 
goin'  to  try  to  hire  a  shanty  for  self  and  friend 
to  come  down  and  camp  out  in,  'n'  fish,  and  so 
forth.  He  told  somebody  up  to  the  Cut  that  he 
guessed  the  reminiscences  of  Daniel  Webster  'd 
make  it  interestin'  here,  though  he  did  n't  take  it 
there  was  much  round  besides  reminiscences.  I 
don't  know,"  she  went  on,  "who  told  him  to 
come  to  the  Jo  Tilden  dike  ;  it  was  a  joke,  I 
85 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

reckon.  Id'  know  what  Mrs.  Grant's  goin* 
to  do.  He  can't  be  moved  for  nobody  knows 
how  long.  I  'm  goin'  to  stop  up  to  see  if  I 
c'n  git  July  Burns  to  come  and  nuss  him,  for 
Mrs.  Grant  can't  no  ways  do  it  with  her 
lameness. 

"*N}  there's  that  Miss  Vance  to  Rodge 
Peake's ;  p'raps  she  could  spell  July  'bout  the  case 
if"  it  come  to  that.  That  Virginy  Vance  ain't  got 
much  vim  you  might  think  from  her  'pearance, 
but  she  had  a  Yankee  mother,  'n'  that  kinder 
saves  her,  you  know.  She  c'n  kinder  'complish 
things,  somehow.  But  she  's  mighty  diff'runt 
from  us  folks  —  outlandish,  I  guess.  But  I  can't 
stop. 

"That  young  man's  right  in  Mrs.  Grant's 
parlor.  So  you  ain't  got  no  cotton  battin'  ?  I 
did  n't  really  expect  you  had,  but  I  thought  I'd 
make  sure.  G'  lang  ! ' ' 

She  pulled  convulsively  at  the  reins,  and  the 
horse,  after  two  or  three  efforts,  started  off  in  a 
walk,  the  buggy  reeling  and  wobbling  after  him. 

I  felt  pretty  sure  that  the  occupant  of  that 
buggy  would  stop  faithfully  at  all  the  houses  in 
the  pursuit  of  batting,  and  thus  she  would  be 
86 


An  Order  for  Bumonge 

the  first    to    tell    the  news  of  the    catastrophe 
through  the  hamlet. 

The  next  day,  as  we  sat  on  the  shady  side 
of  the  shanty,  watching  Rodge  Peake  riding 
his  mowing  machine,  and  noticing  the  absence 
of  Leife,  we  saw  a  woman  in  a  sun-bonnet 
coming  toward  us.  Having  subdued  the  demon- 
strations of  the  terrier,  we  had  leisure  to  observe 
that  this  person  bore  in  her  hand  a  small  paper 
bag  and  a  tin  quart  measure,  and  that  she  was 
very  portly  of  form  and  deliberate  of  movement. 
I  offered  her  the  chair  in  which  I  had  been 
sitting,  and  she  sank  down  in  it,  keeping  the  tin 
carefully  upright.  I  saw  now  that  the  tin  con- 
tained milk,  and  I  waited  to  know  why  she  had 
brought  milk  to  us.  She  was  in  no  hurry  to 
speak,  and  only  nodded  assent  when  I  brilliantly 
remarked  that  it  was  a  warm  day.  Finally  she 
said  she  "  told  'um  over  to  Mrs.  Grant's  that  she 
must  have  a  mouthful  er  fresh  air,  and  she  guessed 
she'd  do  their  arrant  for  'um.  She  told  'um 
also  that,  as  their  hands  were  'bout  as  full's 
they  could  be,  she  presumed  likely  the  two 
women  in  the  shanty,  who  couldn't  have 
nothin',  skurcely,  to  do,  would  be  willin'  to 
87 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

help  so  fur  as  to  make  a  mess  of  bumonge  for 
'urn.  The  doctor  had  ordered  bumonge,  so  's 
to  build  up  the  tissues,  he  said,  and  there  'd  got 
to  be  some  made  by  somebody.  She  had  brought 
the  moss,"  — extending  the  paper  bag,  which  I 
took,  "and  the  milk,"  holding  out  the  measure, 
which  I  also  took.  Standing  thus  helplessly 
before  her,  I  said,  timidly,  that  I  had  never 
made  any  bumonge  in  my  life,  and  I  might 
spoil  the  materials.  Still  I  was  willing  to  try  to 
aid  in  building  up  that  young  man's  tissues. 

The  woman  looked  at  me  with  a  slow  scorn 
growing  in  her  broad,  stolid  face. 

"  Never  made  no  bumonge  !  "  she  repeated. 
Then  she  looked  'round  her  as  if  in  search  of 
some  one  who  could  share  her  amazement. 
"Never  made  none  !  I  declare  !  Hm-m-m," 
—  going  off  into  an  inarticulate  sound,  which  we 
learned  later  was  characteristic  of  her,  and  seem- 
ing to  fall  into  a  kind  of  meditation  from  which 
she  roused  to  say  that  "  there  wa'n't  nothin' 
'bout  bumonge  that  a  child  couldn't  understand. 
It  was  jest  to  put  the  moss  into  some  cold  milk, 
'n'  bring  the  milk  slowly  to  a  bile,  then  strain 
off  into  cups.  All  there  was  to  it  was  not  to 


An  Order  for  Bumonge 

let  the  milk  scorch,  which  milk  was  bound 
to  do  if  it  anyways  got  a  chance.  Continooal 
stirring  was  what  it  needed,  though  some  folks 
nowadays  had  a  double  biler.  Had  we  got  a 
doublebiler  ? ' '  My  friend  said  that  we  had 
not  thought  a  dike  shanty  was  an  appropriate 
place  for  such  a  luxury,  and  so  had  not  brought 
the  article  she  mentioned.  Our  visitor  had 
begun  to  meditate  again,  and  so  did  not  appear 
to  hear  this  remark.  She  was  not  in  any  hurry, 
but  sat  with  her  big  figure  and  fat  face  somewhat 
thrown  forward  in  her  chair.  She  presented  a 
curious  appearance,  caused  by  having  a  very 
small  head,  and  still,  in  some  unaccountable  way, 
a  large,  pendulous  kind  of  a  face.  Who  was 
she  ?  Was  she  the  woman  who  had  been  meant 
when  the  messenger  in  the  buggy  had  spoken  of 
July  Burns,  as  the  person  who  would  have  to 
come  and  "  nuss  that  young  man  ' '  ?  July  was 
pronounced  like  the  month  of  like  orthography, 
and  not  as  a  corruption  of  Julia.  I  hardly  dared 
to  ask  who  it  was  who  had  thus  put  us  to 
making  blanc-mange.  It  would  seem  to  one 
who  casually  thought  on  this  subject  in  all  its 
bearings,  that  the  nurse  would  be  the  one  who 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

should  concoct  dainties  for  her  charge.  But 
that  may  not  be  the  way  things  are  done  on  or 
near  a  dike. 

The  reverie  of  our  caller  was  apparently  so 
profound  that  we  did  not  wish  to  disturb  it,  and 
so  waited  until  such  time  as  she  should  rouse 
herself.  This  rousing  occurred  after  about  half 
an  hour,  when  she  put  a  hand  on  each  side  of 
her  chair,  and  so,  as  if  raised  by  a  species  of 
leverage,  she  rose  to  her  feet.  Standing  thus 
she  advised  us  to  make  the  bumonge  before  night, 
as  the  milk  came  from  Dan  Grant's  cow,  and 
that  cow's  milk  would  sometimes  bonny-clabber 
in  twelve  hours.  "And,"  she  added,  "I  may 
not  feel  like  comin'  after  it,  'n'  you  'd  better, 
one  of  you,  run  over  with  it  yourselves." 

When  she  had  left  us  we  lost  no  time  in 
conversing  about  this  stranger.  We  could  only 
begin  immediately  to  make  a  fire  and  other 
preparations,  that  we  might  cook,  for  it  seemed 
to  us  that  we  could  almost  see  the  milk  of  Dan 
Grant's  cow  begin  to  "  bonny-clabber  "  as  we 
looked  at  it.  The  moments  when  we  "  took 
turns "  in  standing  over  the  hot  stove  and  in 
stirring  the  milk  lest  it  scorch  were  very  wearing, 
90 


An  Order  for  Bumonge 

perspiring  moments.  We  felt  as  if  we  were 
grossly  imposed  upon,  and  yet  we  should  doubt- 
less have  been  considered  brutes  if  we  had 
refused  to  do  this. 

At  that  critical  moment  when  the  milk  is  at 
once  the  nearest  to  scorching  and  to  being  suffi- 
ciently cooked,  Orlando  barked  outside,  and  I 
heard  the  voice  of  one  of  the  haymakers.  It 
was  my  turn  at  the  stove,  and  my  friend  went 
out  to  come  back  just  as  I  had  swung  the  kettle 
off  the  fire.  I  thus  had  leisure  to  listen  to  her 
as  she  said  that  the  man  had  told  her  that  Rodge 
Peake  had  stopped  mowing ;  that  he  had  not 
taken  his  horses  from  the  machine,  and  they 
were  dragging  the  machine  anywhere  in  the 
grass.  They,  the  men,  did  n't  know  what  to 
do,  so  they  had  come  to  us. 

"  Where  was  Mr.  Peake  ? " 

"  Oh,  he  fell  off  the  machine,  'n'  they 
guessed  he  was  asleep  out  there  on  the  dike 
somewhere." 

"  Fell  off?     Did  he  have  a  fit  ?  " 

The  man  smiled  broadly  and  arranged  the 
short  birch  stick  which  fastened  his  one  suspender 
in  front. 

91 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"  Guess  't ain't  much  of  a  fit.  Leastways,  I 
guess  it 's  the  kind  of  a  fit  that  folks  has 
after  they  've  be'n  swillin'  whiskey  into  their- 
selves." 

My  heart  fell. 

"  Has  he  been  swillin'  whiskey  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Yes ;  always  does  when  he  's  hayin'.  Now, 
ye  see,  we  are  in  kind  of  a  fix,  ain't  we  ? " 

I  recalled  what  Mar  Baker  had  hinted  when 
she  knew  who  was  to  get  in  our  grass.  Why 
had  n't  she  spoken  plainly  ? 

One  of  the  other  men  must  immediately  get 
on  the  machine  and  begin  to  mow.  So  we 
said.  Then  we  learned  that  Rodge  Peake,  before 
he  had  fallen  from  the  machine,  had  run  it  on 
to  something  not  meant  for  it  and  broken  it. 
At  last  one  of  the  most  intelligent  of  the  men 
gave  us  his  sacred  promise  that  he  would  do  his 
best  to  get  the  machine  mended  the  next  day. 
Meanwhile  he  would  go  home,  and  would  stop 
and  let  Peake' s  wife  know  'bout  things. 

"She'll  come  and  git  him,"  he  added. 
"He'll  be  sure  to  be  drunk  three  or  four 
days." 

We  began  to  think  we  knew  why  Rodge 
92 


An  Order  for  Bumonge 

Peake's  wife's  father  had   not  approved   of  his 
daughter's  choice. 

It  was  not  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind  that 
my  friend  and  Orlando  and  I  started  forth  at 
sunset  to  go  to  Mrs.  Grant's  to  deliver  the 
bumonge. 


93 


VIII 

IT   JELLS 

AS  we  left  the  shanty  in  the  early  dusk  to  go 
to  Mrs.  Grant's  "  up  on  the  aidge  of  the 
dike,"  we  each  bore  two  cups  of  b lane-mange, 
arranged  on  respective  plates.  Orlando,  how- 
ever, was  not  thus  burdened.  He  only  had 
with  him  his  ever  present  sense  of  his  own 
importance,  and  his  unlimited  capacity  for  pro- 
tective barking  ;  thus  equipped  he  naturally  felt 
that  he  was  ready  to  go  anywhere,  and  he 
cantered  on  ahead  with  the  utmost  satisfaction. 
I  ought  to  have  mentioned  that  when  July 
Burns  had  brought  the  milk  and  the  moss 
together  with  her  order,  and  had  given  us 
directions  for  the  concoction,  she  had  neglected 
to  tell  us  the  quantity  of  moss  required  for  the 
given  amount  of  milk.  Our  one  great  fear  when 
we  came  to  consult  our  judgment  in  the  matter 
was  that  we  should  not  use  enough  moss  to 
94 


It  Jells 

sufficiently  thicken  the  milk,  and  we  kept  put- 
ting in  one  spray  after  another  as  the  milk  was 
heating.  My  friend  remarked  several  times  that 
we  should  never  be  forgiven  if  the  stuff  should  n't 
"  set  "  in  the  cups  so  as  to  turn  out  like  jelly. 
"  Whatever  happens,"  she  said,  "  this  bumonge 
must  jell." 

I  had  to  go  up  to  Mar  Baker's  and  borrow  a 
strainer,  and  as  a  gravy  strainer  was  all  that  she 
had,  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  we 
poked  the  warm  mixture  with  a  teaspoon  through 
the  strainer  in  very  small  quantities  at  a  time. 
In  our  anxiety  a  good  many  drops  went  on  the 
floor  in  a  very  coagulated  state,  and  were  instantly 
gathered  up  by  Orlando,  who  developed  a  strong 
liking  for  this  kind  of  food.  We  were  directly 
relieved  of  our  fear  lest  this  product  should  not 
jell,  for  before  it  was  half  pushed  through  the 
strainer  it  was  nearly  as  stiff  as  cheese,  or  rather 
like  the  white  of  a  hard-boiled  egg,  and  by  the 
time  it  was  in  the  cups  was  so  solid  it  would 
require  a  knife  and  some  muscular  power  to  attack 
it.  My  fellow-laborer  thought  there  was  too 
much  moss,  and  I  thought  there  was  not  enough 
milk  ;  we  were  both  of  the  opinion  that  it  would 
95 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

be  a  capital  diet  with  which  to  build  up  the 
tissues  of  the  young  man  lying  disabled  at  Mrs. 
Grant's.  The  blanc-mange  had  a  good  look  to 
it  and  it  tasted  well,  and  these  two  important 
requisites  decided  us  to  take  it  to  Mrs.  Grant's,  as 
we  had  been  told. 

The  Grants  lived  in  an  old  house,  set  so  near 
the  road  that  carriages  must  occasionally  run  over 
its  flat  front  "door  stone."  It  had  not  a  tree 
near  it,  and  from  its  south  "  end  window  "  there 
must  be  an  extensive  view  of  the  dike.  To 
those  who  loved  the  flat,  and  I  now  could  easily 
imagine  the  place  awakening  an  ardent  and 
peculiar  love,  such  a  view  must  be  a  constant 
delight,  filling  the  soul  with  vague,  large  dreams. 
But  to  those  to  whom  these  wide  expanses,  with 
the  ocean  thundering  beyond,  suggested  only  a 
monotonous  gloom,  the  old  Grant  house  would 
be  a  melancholy  place  of  residence.  Each  wild 
bird  that  flew  toward  water  or  toward  land 
would  suggest  a  spirit  escaping. 

The  house  was  too  low  for  even  its  chambers 

to  command  a  glimpse  of  the  sea.      It  was  low 

in  structure  and  low-toned  in  every  way  ;  beloved 

of  chimney  swallows  apparently,  for,  as  we   ap- 

96 


It  Jells 

preached,  several  of  those  birds  were  flying  in 
and  out  of  the  enormous  mouth  of  the  chimney. 
The  cracked  and  blackened  front  door  had  a  row 
of  small  window  panes  above  it.  The  door  was 
swung  open,  and  in  the  entry  sat  Mr.  Grant 
smoking,  his  back  to  the  passer-by,  and  his  legs 
supported  on  one  of  the  stairs,  which  began  their 
ascent  directly  opposite  the  door  and  not  many 
feet  from  it. 

Mr.  Grant  turned  his  head  when  he  heard 
our  footsteps,  clinched  his  pipe  tightly  between 
his  teeth,  and  called  out,  "  Lyddy !  Lyddy ! 
Here  's  company  i  " 

We  immediately  heard  a  limping  sound  from 
one  of  the  back  rooms,  and  an  extremely  un- 
kempt looking  woman  came  into  the  entry, 
nodded  at  us,  and  said,  — 

"  Daniel,  I  'd  know  's  anybody  c'n  git  by  you, 
settin'  's  you  be." 

Mr.  Grant  now  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
hitched  his  chair  a  little  to  one  side,  and  said,  — 

"  If  they  can't  git  by  me,  Lyddy,  you  know 
there  ain't  a  woman  in  the  world  but  what  can 
git  round  me." 

He  chuckled,  and  we  smiled  as  we  pushed  into 
7  97 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

the  kitchen  where  the  woman  beckoned  us.     We 
bore  our  plates  as  circumspectly  as  we  could. 

As  she  shoved  chairs  toward  us,  Mrs.  Grant 
said  that  July  had  told  her  that  we  were  goin' 
to  be  so  kind  as  to  make  some  bumonge  for  that 
unlucky  feller  as  had  broke  hisself  about  all  to 
pieces.  We  explained  that  we  were  asked  to 
make  the  btanc-mange,  but  we  had  never  made 
any  before  and  did  n't  think  we  had  been  very 
successful.  Mrs.  Grant  pulled  her  spectacles 
from  her  forehead  down  to  her  eyes,  looked  at  the 
contents  of  the  cups,  and  said  it  seemed  to  have 
jelled.  I  replied  that  we  feared  it  had  not  jelled 
but  petrified,  whereupon  she  smiled  and  guessed 
we  put  in  too  much  moss,  but  it  was  a  good  deal 
better  to  have  too  much  than  too  little.  This 
was  said  in  such  a  genial  way  that  we  both  felt 
in  better  spirits  than  we  had  done  since  we  had 
been  requested  to  make  this  article  of  food.  The 
terrier  was  also  encouraged  to  put  his  forepaws, 
which  were  quite  muddy,  up  on  Mrs.  Grant's 
lap,  and  to  receive  a  few  kind  pats,  which  he  took 
as  no  more  than  his  due.  She  told  us  that  this 
dog  had  come  to  her  house  before  our  arrival, 
and  she  had  fed  him  several  times.  He  seemed 
98 


It  Jells 

"  awful  thin  and  awful  lonesome,  and  I  tell  you  I 
pitied  him.  I  'd  have  took  him  in,  only  our  cat 
won't  have  a  dog  'round.  But  he  looks  as  if 
he  had  found  some  good  friends  now." 

Here  a  door  opened  the  other  side  of  the 
house,  boards  creaked,  thin  partitions  wavered, 
and  then  July  Burns  appeared  in  the  open  door- 
way. She  greeted  us  silently,  then  sat  heavily 
down  in  a  chair  near  the  door,  and  immediately 
began  to  meditate.  Mrs.  Grant  moved  her  hand 
slightly  toward  July  and  said,  just  as  if  she  were 
not  present.  "  That's  a  way  she  has.  I  s'pose 
she's  a  restin'.  I  often  wish  I  could  rest  's 
easy  's  that.  'T  ain't  no  use  tryin'  to  rouse  her. 
She  '11  rouse  herself  when  she  gets  ready."  This 
prophecy  was  fulfilled  about  ten  minutes  later 
when  July  lifted  her  broad  face,  and,  glancing  at 
the  dishes  on  the  table  near  us,  said  she  hoped 
we'd  had  good  luck,  but  then  a  child  could 
make  bumonge ;  there  wan't  no  difHkilty  'bout 
that.  No  one  made  any  reply  to  this,  and  Mrs. 
Burns  went  on  to  say  that  her  young  man,  that 
is  what  she  called  her  patient,  and  I  thought  he 
would  have  liked  to  hear  her,  had  dropped  into 
a  doze,  and  she  thought  she  'd  jest  come  out  'n' 
99 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

change  the  scene  a  little.  She  thought  nusses 
was  expected  too  much  to  stick  to  the  sick-room 
and  git  sick  theirselves. 

While  she  was  speaking  she  had  put  her 
hands  to  the  sides  of  her  chair,  as  she  had  done 
at  our  shanty,  and  had  thus  risen  to  her  feet. 
She  walked  over  and  looked  at  the  blanc-mange, 
putting  the  square  end  of  her  fat  forefinger  on  to  it. 

"  Simps  to  me,"  she  said,  "  it 's  jest  like  injy 
rubber.  I  d'  know  whether  my  young  man  can 
eat  it  or  not,  or  if  he  does  eat  it  I  would  n't 
wonder  if  it  distressed  him.  Didn't  have  no 
luck,  did  ye?" 

"  If  it  were  India  rubber  we  wanted,  we  had 
the  best  of  luck,"  said  my  friend,  somewhat 
tartly. 

"  I  did  n't  know  's  anybody  could  help 
making  bumonge  right,"  said  July. 

Here  Mrs.  Grant  interposed  by  saying  good- 
humoredly  that  it  made  all  the  difference  in  the 
world  whether  a  person  was  used  to  a  thing  or 
not.  And  then  July  said  she  'd  come  over  to 
our  shanty  in  a  day  or  two  and  she  'd  show  us, 
for  likely  's  not  there  'd  be  more  needed.  As 
for  this  mess,  why,  if  her  young  man  could  n'  t 

IOC5 


It  Jells 

eat  it,  she   could,  as  she  loved    them  kind    of 
victuals. 

Before  she  had  finished  these  remarks  we 
heard  a  tossing,  and  some  muttered  and  impa- 
tient words  from  the  room  where  we  decided 
that  July's  patient  was  lying.  She  heard  also, 
and  before  she  left  us  to  go  to  him  she  said  he 
was  jest  as  fretful  's  he  could  be,  and  she  never 
yet  worried  till  folks  stopped  bein'  fretful.  She 
told  us  further  that  he  had  said  something  about 
sendin'  to  Boston  for  one  er  them  trained  nusses, 
'n'  she  told  him  if  he  wanted  to  fling  away  his 
money  he  might,  but  that  she  herself  would  n't 
give  in  to  no  trained  nuss  that  ever  stepped. 
"'N'  I  told  him  that  I  had  n't  no  objections  to 
havin'  help  from  amongst  the  neighbors  's  I 
knew  on.  I  thought  of  gittin'  Miss  Vance  to 
come  over  'n'  help  me  watch  with  him  some- 
times so  's  to  give  me  a  chance,  'n'  I  guess  I 
sh'll  send  for  her  to-morrer.  Yes,  I  let  him 
know  my  idee  of  trained  nusses. 

"  He  ain't  said  nothin'  more  'bout  it  sense," 
she  said  in  conclusion.  Then  the  floor  creaked 
again  and  the  partitions  vibrated  as  she  went 
back  to  her  charge. 

101 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

Even  the  good-humored  Mrs.  Grant  seemed 
roused  by  the  mention  of  trained  nurses,  a  subject 
upon  which  her  ideas  were  vague,  but  emphatic. 
She  said  with  great  force  that  human  nature  —  I 
think  she  meant  humanity  or  charity  —  had  bid 
her  take  in  that  poor  critter  when  he  got  throwed 
and  smashed  up  so,  'n'  her  house  was  turned 
topsy-turvy  for  him.  Human  nature  had  gone 
so  fur,  but  it  could  n't  be  expected  to  go  to  the 
length  of  havin'  a  trained  nuss  under  her  roof. 
She  was  goin'  to  stop  there.  If  July  Burns, 
who  had  took  care,  fust  'n'  last,  of  nigh  every- 
body at  the  Cut  or  the  Brant,  savin'  summer 
visitors,  couldn't  do  for  him,  with  help  from 
the  neighbors,  if  necessary,  in  course,  why,  then 
he  need  n't  be  done  for  under  her  roof,  'n'  she 
was  prepared  to  tell  him  so,  if  it  come  to  that. 

Mr.  Grant  here  spoke  from  the  front  entry, 
where  he  had  continued  smoking,  — 

"Now,  Lyddy,"  he  said,  "don't  cry  'fore 
you  're  hurt.  July  Burns  '11  git  that  feller  up  in 
a  week  or  two."  He  looked  full  at  us,  took 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  in  a  barely  audible 
voice  he  continued,  "Any  feller  that  had  the 
wit  of  a  goose  'd  git  up  off  his  sick  bed  plaguy 
102 


It  Jells 

quick,  so's  to  git  where  he  couldn't  see  nor 
hear  that  woman.  Now,  in  my  opinion,  that 's 
the  kind  of  a  nuss  to  hev,  the  one  that'll  git  ye 
up  the  soonest." 

His  wife  said  remonstrantly,  "Daniel!"  but 
Daniel  only  went  on  smoking.  We  rose  to  ter- 
minate our  call.  We  said  constrainedly  that  if 
we  could  do  anything  we  hoped  they  would  ask 
us  freely  for  our  help.  Mr.  Grant  went  out  a 
few  yards  along  the  road  with  us.  I  thought 
he  had  come  thus  far  that  he  might  say  some- 
thing, but  he  stopped  in  the  same  objectless  way 
in  which  he  had  started,  went  back,  then  told 
us  over  his  shoulder  that  he  guessed  we  should 
have  a  good  hay  day  to-morrow. 

These  words  recalled  the  facts  that  Mr.  Peake's 
mowing  machine  was  broken,  and  Mr.  Peake 
himself  was  drunk.  These  facts  we  had  for  a 
moment  forgotten.  It  was  bright  starlight  now. 
There  was  not  a  breath  of  wind,  not  a  sound  ; 
even  the  ocean  was  noiseless.  As  we  walked 
on,  two  women  on  horseback  came  cantering  in 
a  cloud  of  dust  from  the  direction  of  the  Brant. 
In  this  cloud  of  dust  we  saw  the  tall  form  of 
Ozias  coming  from  the  post-office.  We  were 
103 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

always  anxious  when  he  returned  from  such  an 
errand  lest  he  might  bring  an  answer  to  our 
advertisement  about  Orlando.  This  latter  indi- 
vidual was  now  growling  and  capering  at  the 
heels  of  the  errand  boy.  The  terrier  had  from 
the  first  revealed  an  —  I  was  going  to  say  an 
unmanly,  certainly  an  —  undogly  dislike  toward 
Ozias.  This  undisguised  animosity  may  have 
had  something  to  do  with  fostering  Mrs.  Baker's 
belief  that  our  dog  was  always  running  mad. 

The  half-witted  being  had  earned  two  pennies, 
for  he  had  brought  us  two  letters.  His  fund 
toward  an  ice-cream  debauch  was  slowly  grow- 
ing. But  he  still  bewailed  the  fact  that  he  was 
forbidden  to  earn  more  money  by  going  on  to 
the  dike  when  the  mowing-machine  was  in 
operation.  In  reference  to  this  subject,  Mar 
Baker  had  said  that,  though  the  Lord  hadn't 
given  'Zias  as  many  brains  as  other  folks,  he  had 
given  him  as  many  arms  and  legs,  and  she  was 
going  to  try  to  keep  'em  from  being  cut  off. 


104 


IX 

A  LETTER  AND  A  NERVE  ATTACK 


E  interior  of  a  shanty.  A"  small  kerosene 
±  hand-lamp  faintly  illuminating  the  cracked 
stove  and  the  row  of  bunks  at  the  end  of  the 
room.  The  screen  door  accidentally  left  open, 
and  mosquitoes  and  large  moths  flying  in.  A 
scent  of  damp  newly  cut  hay  mingled  with  an 
odor  of  salt  pervading  the  place.  A  Yorkshire 
terrier  sitting  on  the  table  in  the  direct  glow  of 
the  light,  and  watching  with  keenest  eyes  the 
movements  of  two  women  who  seem  somewhat 
excited  over  an  open  letter  which  they  have 
evidently  just  perused.  Reader  !  This  is  our 
shanty,  it  is  our  kerosene  lamp,  our  terrier  — 
oh  !  would  he  were  indeed  ours  !  —  our  mosqui- 
toes, our  moths,  and  we  are  the  two  women 
with  the  letter.  It  is  one  of  the  missives  which 
Ozias  brought  and  we  paid  him  two  cents  for  it. 
It  seems  misery  enough  to  have  it  without  the 
consciousness  that  we  have  also  paid  for  it.  But 
105 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

still  it  might  be  far  worse  than  it  is.  With  every 
perusal  that  we  give  it,  our  consciousness  that 
indeed  it  might  be  worse,  and  our  relief  that 
it  is  n't,  grow  stronger  and  stronger.  It  is 
an  answer  to  our  advertisement  concerning  the 
dog,  which  notice  appeared  some  weeks  ago, 
so  long  ago  in  fact  that  we  have  been  able  day 
by  day  to  thrust  more  and  more  successfully 
from  us  the  fear  that  there  would  ever  be  an 
answer.  The  envelope  is  postmarked  in  Glas- 
gow, Scotland.  The  writing  is  of  that  tall, 
slim,  ladylike  kind  wherein  each  letter  is  pre- 
cisely like  every  other  letter,  and  which  one 
does  not  read  but  divines  in  some  unexplainable 
way.  We  have  divined  it,  or  we  think  we 
have,  and  this  it  is :  — 

"Dear,  unknown  friends  of  Orlando  across 
the  water  :  Arthur  has  just  happened  to  see  your 
advertisement  in  an  old  Boston  paper  that  we 
found  in  our  state-room.  Arthur  is  my  husband, 
and  we  have  come  on  our  wedding  trip  to 
Scotland  where  his  parents  were  born.  I  've 
been  sick  almost  every  bit  of  the  voyage,  and 
you  don't  know  how  lovely  'tis  to  be  on  land 
again.  Arthur  says  I  shall  love  Scotland  as  he 
1 06 


A  Letter  and  a  Nerve  Attack 

loves  it,  and  I  begin  to  feel  sure  I  shall,  but  then 
I  've  been  so  sick  coming  over  that  I  should 
dote  on  almost  anything  that  didn't  reel  and 
pitch  and  creak.  He  just  looks  over  my  shoul- 
der and  suggests  that  I  say  something  about 
Orlando.  Of  course,  he  is  right.  There  never 
was  a  sweeter  dog  than  that  one.  My  brother 
gave  him  to  me.  He,  my  brother  I  mean,  was 
studying  something  about  Italian  literature,  and 
he  said  it  was  a  good  joke  to  give  the  dog  that 
name.  Perhaps  you'll  understand  it.  I'm 
sure  I  don't.  Arthur  says  there  's  no  need  for 
me  to  understand  it.  We  missed  him  one  time 
when  we  were  visiting  the  Webster  Place. 
Arthur  says  I  must  give  you  my  address,  but 
how  can  I  when  we  expect  to  travel  for  the 
next  six  months,  and  to  be  abroad  for  a  year  or 
two  ?  Arthur  says  there  is  nothing  like  seeing 
other  countries  to  make  a  man  appreciate  his 
own.  I  know  you  will  be  kind  to  my  own 
dear  doggie.  Hug  him  hard  for  me  and  kiss 
his  little  black  nose  "  —  here  we  paused  to  obey 
this  request,  and  then,  when  Orlando  had  almost 
knocked  the  lamp  over,  we  went  on.  "  Arthur 
thinks  from  your  advertisement  that  you  will  be 
107 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

just  as  kind  as  can  be  to  him  —  the  dog,  I  mean. 
He  says  that  I'd  better  let  you  keep  him,  the 
dog,  you  know,  until  we  come  back,  as  you 
seem  to  be  so  attached  to  him,  to  Orlando,  you 
understand.  Arthur  is  watching  me  so  as  I 
write  that  it  is  quite  confusing.  Arthur  says 
you  '11  be  sure  to  be  thankful  for  the  privilege  of 
having  him,  —  oh,  dear,  of  having  the  Yorkshire, 
I  mean.  And  as  for  me,  I  cannot  express  how 
grateful  lam  that  Orlando  has  found  sympathetic 
friends.  I  have  worried  awfully  about  him,  and 
I  just  cried  for  joy  when  Arthur  showed  me  the 
notice.  I  mean  to  write  to  you  again,  and  I 
implore  that  you  will  occasionally  send  me  a 
word  about  the  dog,  though  Arthur  says  that 
would  be  no  end  of  a  bore  to  you. 
Gratefully  yours, 

ROSE  EVANS  MC.DONALD." 

This  was  the  letter,  and  it  covered  four  sheets 
of  note  paper,  so  extensive  was  the  chiro- 
graphy.  At  first  we  did  not  notice  that  Mrs. 
McDonald  had  not,  after  all,  given  any  address, 
but  on  looking  closely  over  the  sheet  we  found 
no  more  hieroglyphics,  and  turned  to  each  other 
108 


A  Letter  and  a  Nerve  Attack 

with  thankful  glances.  Why  did  not  Arthur 
have  his  wife  put  on  an  address  ?  He  must 
have  been  absent  from  his  bride  when  she  really 
sealed  the  note.  Yes,  indeed,  it  might  have 
been  a  good  deal  worse,  even  though  my  friend 
suggested  that  Rose  Evans  McDonald,  by  the 
time  she  returned  to  her  native  shores,  might  be 
so  tired  of  her  Arthur  that  she  would  be  glad  to 
resume  her  Orlando.  But  there  were  a  great 
many  chances  in  our  favor.  Mrs.  Arthur  might 
choose  to  settle  in  Arthur's  Scotland,  or  she 
might  even  die.  But  it  was  wicked  to  speculate 
thus.  The  present  was  our  own.  When  the 
time  drew  nigh  for  the  return  of  the  McDonalds, 
we  might  abscond.  As  for  giving  up  Orlando, 
—  that  alternative  had  grown  more  and  more 
fearful  to  think  of  as  the  days  passed  on. 

Our  discussion  of  this  subject  was  cut  short  by 
the  terrier's  leaping  from  the  stand  and  flying  to 
the  open  door  wherein  an  unsteady  figure  pres- 
ently appeared.  This  figure  was  that  of  Rodge 
Peake,  very  much  crumpled  as  to  his  shirt  and 
over-alls,  and  very  blurred  as  to  his  face.  He 
grasped  the  side  of  the  door,  made  a  movement 
that  was  meant  to  cause  us  to  think  he  was  very 
109 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

upright  indeed,  then  he  asked  solicitously  concern- 
ing our  health.  Before  we  could  reply,  he  told  us 
earnestly  that  the  Brant  was  the  place  for  women, 
and  he  'd  got  a  house  there  that  he  'd  sell  reason- 
able. Having  said  this  he  went  down  in  a  heap 
on  the  floor,  with  the  dog  flying  about  him. 
We  heard  a  mutter  to  the  effect  that  some  strong 
coffee  was  what  he  needed,  for  his  nerves  some- 
times played  him  these  tricks.  We  acted  upon 
this  suggestion  and  began  to  make  a  fire  as  the 
first  step  toward  coffee.  We  immediately  sus- 
pected that  Mr.  Peake  had  been  asleep  on  the 
dike  somewhere  ever  since  we  had  been  informed 
that  he  had  been  "  swillin'  whiskey,"  and  that, 
for  some  reason,  his  wife  had  not  chosen  to  come 
after  him.  Mr.  Peake  drew  himself  up  and 
leaned  in  a  sitting  posture  against  the  wall  just 
within  the  door.  As  the  aroma  of  coffee  grew 
strong  upon  the  air  our  guest  began  to  revive, 
and  when  he  had  drank  one  cup  and  held  the 
other  in  his  hand  he  was  almost  himself.  He 
had  probably  slept  off  the  first  and  deepest  effects 
of  his  potations.  He  was  now  looking  rather 
shamefaced,  and  this  look  grew  upon  him  rapidly. 
He  commenced  an  elaborate  explanation  of  the 
no 


A  Letter  and  a  Nerve  Attack 

tricks  his  nerves  would  at  certain  periods  "  cut 
upon  him."  He  said  that  folks,  to  look  at  him, 
p'raps,  wouldn't  say  he  had  a  nerve  in  him, 
but,  in  point  of  fact,  he  was  as  chock  full  of  um 
as  a  woman,  and  when  he  'd  been  out  in  the 
hot  sun,  settin'  on  his  merchine  like  's  he  'd 
been  doin'  on  our  dike,  why,  then  he  jest  had 
ter  give  up  'n'  lay  down  right  where  he  was. 
He  had  often  found  it  mighty  inconvenient  to 
have  this  kind  of  nerves,  'n'  when  he  kinder 
come  to,  he  hed  to  hev  some  coffee  to  stiddy 
him.  He  could  feel  this  coffee  a  stiddyin'  of 
him  now. 

As  the  fire  blazed  in  the  stove  the  atmosphere 
in  the  little  room  grew  unbearable.  It  was  one 
of  the  sultriest  nights  of  the  summer.  The 
heavy  clouds  had  shut  out  the  sky  all  day,  but 
no  rain  had  fallen.  There  was  not  a  breath  of 
wind,  and  the  flat  lay  there  as  if  under  a  spell 
woven  by  the  summer  solstice,  still,  dark,  hot, 
close.  There  was  hardly  a  murmur  from  the 
ocean.  The  clouds  kept  coming  down  nearer 
and  nearer.  Off  in  the  north  "heat  lightning" 
played  along  the  horizon.  But  there  was  no 
thunder.  It  was  what  is  called  "  muggy." 
II I 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

Mr.  Grant,  when  we  had  taken  our  daily  allow- 
ance of  milk  at  sunset,  had  said  it  couldn't  be 
no  muggier  if  it  tried. 

We  were  constantly  wiping  the  moisture  from 
our  faces,  but  Mr.  Peake  did  not  seem  to  mind 
the  drops  that  rolled  down  his  forehead  and 
cheeks.  He  sat  as  comfortably  as  was  possible 
in  the  door-way,  his  back  propped  against  one 
side  of  the  casing. 

He  took  another  sip  of  coffee  and  repeated 
with  still  more  emphatic  gratitude  his  assertion 
concerning  its  beneficial  effects.  As  he  did  so  a 
pathetic,  long-drawn-out  voice  outside  said, 

"It's  a  great  pity  you  couldn't  be  at  home 
to  git  stiddied  under  your  own  roof,  *n'  let 
your  own  wife  make  your  coffee." 

The  dog  dashed  out  and  conducted  into  the 
shanty  a  slender,  young-looking  woman  of  the 
washed-out  blond  type,  who  went  to  Mr.  Peake 
and  put  her  hand  on  his  forehead  as  she  looked 
anxiously  at  him.  Then  she  glanced  at  us 
and  said  in  a  whisper  that  he  was  just  a  trifle 
feverish  now.  She  'd  take  him  right  home  'n' 
nuss  him  up.  When  he  had  these  'tacks  they 
gen' rally  lasted  about  three  days.  She  knew 

112 


A  Letter  and  a  Nerve  Attack 

how  to  take  care  of  him.  If  there  was  ever  a 
woman  that  knew  about  nerve  'tacks  she  was 
that  woman,  for  her  husband  had  had  um  ever 
sence  she  married  him.  She  knew  he  was  lia- 
ble to  um  when  he  was  on  the  merchine.  She 
should  have  been  after  him  sooner  only  she  'd 
been  spendin'  the  day  jest  below  the  Cut  and 
did  n't  git  the  word  'til  late.  Virginy  she 
had  n't  come  home  yet ;  'n'  Leife  he  was  to  Bos- 
ton on  business.  It  happened  so  she  was  the 
one  to  come.  'N'  'twas  'jest  as  well,  for  she 
knew  better  'n  anybody  how  to  do  at  such 
times. 

"  Come,  Rodge,  don't  you  think  we  can 
walk  home  now?  I  guess  we  can  git  there 
somehow  ? " 

Her  minor,  drawling  tones  were  very  pene- 
trating. Though  she  held  on  to  the  sound  of 
some  letters  the  effect  was  very  different  from 
the  effect  when  the  same  thing  was  done  in  the 
full,  melodious  voice  of  her  niece.  Her  face 
was  sympathetic  and  gentle.  There  was  not  a 
hint  in  her  whole  aspect  to  show  that  she  was 
not  sincere,  or  that  she  could  detect  the  fumes 
of  whiskey  which  her  husband's  breath  made 
8  113 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

very  perceptible,  even  above  the  odor  of  coffee 
in  the  little  room. 

Mr.  Peake  looked  at  his  wife  and  then  at  us 
with  an  air  of  pride.  He  struggled  up  to  his  feet 
with  her  help.  As  they  stood  together  for  a 
moment  before  starting,  that  he  might  be  allowed 
to  get  his  equilibrium  as  much  as  possible,  it 
occurred  to  us  that  nerve  attacks  were  very 
antagonistic  to  celerity  in  the  matter  of  mowing. 
We  inquired  when  our  grass  would  probably  all 
be  cut.  Mr.  Peake  looked  at  his  wife  again, 
now  with  inquiry.  She  explained  that  her 
husband  wa'  n't  well  for  'bout  three  days  after 
one  of  these  'tacks.  She  thought  by  Monday 
he  'd  be  sure  to  be  'round.  Rodge  nodded  his 
head  profusely  and  said  that  by  Monday  he  'd 
be  sure  to  be  'round.  We  said  we  wished  we 
could  get  another  man  who  did  not  have  nerve 
'tacks.  Mrs.  Peake  did  not  appear  offended  at 
this.  She  said  that  dike  grass  bein'  low  so  it 
would  n't  take  no  hurt  if  it  stood  a  great  deal 
later  than  upland.  We  knew  that  this  was  true, 
fortunately  for  us,  and  we  knew  also  that  "an- 
other man  "  would  not  probably  be  forthcoming 
at  this  late  day.  Mrs.  Peake  thanked  us  with 
114 


A  Letter  and  a  Nerve  Attack 

almost  tearful  earnestness  for  our  kindness  to 
her  sick  husband.  She  said  nerves  was  fearful 
things,  and  no  one  who  had  never  had  to  deal 
with  um  knew  anything  about  them.  Then 
they  both  said  good  night,  Mr.  Peake  turning 
back  to  repeat  the  farewell  with  fervor  when  a 
few  yards  away.  We  stood  and  watched  the 
two  as  they  walked  slowly  under  the  summer 
heavens.  Even  in  the  dusk  we  could  see  with 
what  tenderness  Mrs.  Peake  guided  her  com- 
panion. Did  she  know  what  his  trouble  was  ? 
She  must  know.  But  certainly  I  had  never 
seen  acting  so  perfect,  and  I  was  sure  it  was  kept 
up  in  the  privacy  of  their  own  home. 

The  night  was  so  soft  and  sweet  and  still 
that  we  walked  out  on  the  dike.  The  scent 
of  cedar  and  sweet  fern  and  clover  came  out 
strongly  in  the  dampness.  There  was  not  a 
distinct  sound  to  be  heard.  The  never-ceasing 
hum  of  the  insects  in  the  grass  was  like  the 
inarticulate  voice  of  the  night  itself.  How  dark 
it  was  !  How  hot ! 

There  was  no  glimmer  of  light  when  we 
looked  above.  That  heat  lightning  capriciously 
glared  every  few  moments. 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

Looking  back  we  saw  the  light  streaming 
from  the  door  of  our  small  black  shanty  and 
revealing  the  rough  interior. 

Without  thinking  or  caring  which  way  we 
went,  we  found  that  we  had  come  near  the 
river,  which  cuts  its  way  through  the  marshes 
here,  and  makes  a  thoroughfare  used  in  coming 
from  the  Brant  village  or  going  to  it. 

As  we  stood  listening  to  the  slight  noise  made 
by  the  stream,  we  presently  became  aware  that 
there  was  a  boat  approaching.  The  oars  were 
dipped  and  withdrawn  very  slowly.  A  man 
was  speaking,  and  soon  there  were  distinct  words 
audible. 

"  It  is  lucky  for  me  that  you  strayed  over  to 
the  village.  If  you  had  gone  directly  home,  I 
should  not  have  met  you,  and  so  could  n't  have 
taken  you  across  the  cut.  And  there  's  a  good 
mile  you  will  have  to  walk  with  me  yet." 

The  speaker  evidently  meant  what  he  said, 
though  he  might  have  purposely  exaggerated  his 
emphasis.  We  were  at  first  in  doubt  as  to  who 
he  was.  But  we  knew  directly  whose  was  the 
vowel-caressing  voice  that  responded. 

"  You  have  an  impressive  way  with  you, 
116 


A  Letter  and  a  Nerve  Attack 

cousin  Leife.  It  makes  conversation  very  pleas- 
ant —  if  one  believes  you,"  and  Miss  Vance 
laughed. 

"  If  one  believes  me  !  "  rather  vehemently 
repeated  Leife  Peake.  "  I  don't  know  you  very 
well  yet,  but  I  mean  to  know  you.  Yes,  I 
mean  to  understand  you,  you  puzzle  of  a 
Northern  and  Southern  girl  in  one.  I  'm  going 
to  stay  right  at  home  and  study  Virginia  Vance. 
Tell  me,  are  you  intending  to  make  the  study  a 
difficult  one?" 

"Just  as  difficult  as  possible,  or  you  won't  care 
to  keep  on  with  it,"  the  girl  answered  gayly. 

I  cannot  tell  what  it  was,  —  surely  nothing  in 
the  words,  and  we  could  not  see  her  face,  — 
was  it  something  in  the  mere  inflection,  or 
more  intricate  or  occult  still,  was  it  some  invol- 
untary revealment  from  her  very  presence  that 
made  us  two  outsiders  who  heard  her  equally 
sure  that  she  was  drawn  toward  her  companion 
as  he  was  drawn  toward  her  ? 

He  should  have  been  conscious  of  this  assur- 
ance far  more  acutely  than  we,  who,  standing 
without,  could  too  vividly  imagine  the  thrill  the 
knowledge  would  give  him. 
117 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

After  a  silence  Miss  Vance  suggested  that  as 
they  were  so  near  those  ladies,  would  it  not  be 
a  good  thing  to  call  on  them  ? 

Hearing  this  proposition  we  turned  quickly 
and  hurried  toward  the  lamp-light,  which  told 
us  where  the  shanty  was. 

Orlando,  who  had  been  on  one  of  the  mys- 
terious trips  which  dogs  often  find  it  necessary  to 
take,  now  came  running  back  and  began  to  bark 
at  the  boat.  We  did  not  reveal  our  presence  by 
calling  him. 

We  entered  our  hovel  and  sat  down  to  wait. 
It  was  a  good  while,  considering  the  distance, 
before  the  two  appeared  at  the  entrance.  They 
did  not  seem  eager  to  come  in,  but  the  girl 
entered  and  sat  down,  while  her  escort  lounged 
in  the  door-way. 

If  there  had  been  something  like  stolidity  in 
the  squareness  of  young  Peake's  face,  there  was 
nothing  like  it  now.  It  was  dangerously  illu- 
minated and  alive.  The  aggressive  chin  and 
mouth  were  almost  sensitive  in  their  expression, 
and  there  was  a  sort  of  flush  showing  through 
the  tan  of  his  cheeks.  That  flush  and  the  gleam 
in  his  eyes  reminded  me  by  contrast  of  the  sod- 
118 


A  Letter  and  a  Nerve  Attack 

den  condition  in  which  I  had  just  seen  his  father, 
and  it  also  made  me  think  of  the  insinuations 
Mar  Baker  had  spoken.  What  had  this  fellow 
been  doing  in  Boston  ?  Had  he  been  drinking 
champagne  with  a  gay  party  while  his  father 
had  been  enacting  a  more  advanced  part  in  the 
same  drama  ?  And  was  he  going  to  love  this 
girl  and  win  her  without  being  worthy  even  to 
be  her  friend  ? 

Here  I  glanced  at  Miss  Vance,  and  was  made 
quite  unhappy  because  I  fancied  she  looked  too 
happy.  There  was  little  color  in  her  face, 
however.  She  had  that  pallor  which  often  goes 
with  dark  skins,  and  which  saves  the  owner 
many  an  agony  of  blushing.  She  met  my  eyes 
radiantly.  She  was  more  quiet  even  than  usual. 
I  could  not,  after  the  two  were  gone,  forget  a 
way  she  had  of  lifting  her  eyes  slowly  toward 
Leife,  without  smiling,  but  with  something  in 
her  face  a  great  deal  better  than  a  smile. 

When  they  were  well  out  of  the  way  I  de- 
clared that  it  was  a  shame.  Without  asking 
what  I  meant,  my  companion  reiterated  my 
exclamation. 

After  this,  the  closeness  being  still  intolerable, 
119 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

we  went  out  again.  It  was  that  kind  of  air,  or 
lack  of  it,  which  makes  people  sure  they  cannot 
breathe  if  there  is  n'  t  a  change. 

We  went  up  on  to  the  road  till  we  came  to 
Mrs.  Baker's.  We  found  her  sitting  on  her 
doorstep  flapping  a  bunch  of  sweet  fern  to  keep 
away  the  mosquitoes.  She  said  it  was  so  hot  'n' 
stifled  she  jest  hated  to  stay  in  the  house.  Her 
way  of  speaking  showed  that  she  was  very  tired, 
and  when  we  questioned  her  she  acknowledged 
that  '  Zias  had  been  particularly  wearin'  that  day, 
and  now  he  was  asleep  she  was  trying  to  rest. 
She  ended  by  saying  :  — 

"  I  guess  I  ain't  the  only  woman  that 's  fagged 
out  to-night.  Miss  Peake  jes'  come  along  lookin' 
for  her  husband.  She  was  as  worked  up  's  could 
be ;  said  he  'd  git  cold  a  layin'  on  the  dike. 
Said  he  had  to  lay  down  wherever  he  was  when 
his  nerve  'tack  got  to  jes'  such  a  haith  "  — did 
she  mean  height  ?  —  "  Said  he  was  so  liable  to 
have  a  'tack  when  he  was  on  the  merchine.  I 
s'pose  she  found  him,  for  I  seen  um  go  'long 
jes'  now." 

We  related  the  occurrences  of  the  last  hour, 
so  far  as  they  concerned  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Peake. 

120 


A  Letter  and  a  Nerve  Attack 

It  seemed  best  to  suppress  all  reference  to 
the  younger  people  we  had  seen.  The  little 
woman  threw  up  her  hands  and  exclaimed : 
"  Lord-er-mighty  !  I  never  seen  such  a  woman  's 
that  is !  It 's  ben  like  that  ever  since  she  married. 
There  ain't  no  mortal  person  ever  known  of  her 
showing  by  any  sign  or  look  or  word  that  she 
knows  Rodge  drinks.  He  's  even  had  delirium 
trimmins  once  or  twice.  She  talks  'bout  his 
'tacks  free  enough.  She  wishes  her  husband 
was  well  like  other  men.  She  nusses  him  up. 
She's  gentle  as  a  dove.  She  beats  me.  I've 
wondered  many  a  time  if  she  ever  lets  him  know 
she  knows  what's  the  matter  of  him.  I  '11  bet 
she  don't.  Does  she  know  herself?  I  tell 
you  she 's  bright  's  a  dollar  'bout  everything 
else.  She  knows.  Sometimes  I  feel  a  respect 
for  her,  'n'  then  I  'm  so  kinder  tried  I  want  to 
go  right  to  her  'n'  tell  her  that  Rodge  gits 
drunk.  But  I  never  did,  'n'  I  don't  think 
nobody  ever  did.  What's  the  use?  She's 
got  her  trials.  Yes,  we  all  have  our  trials, 
but  I  often  think  I  'd  know  what  I  should 
do  with  a  husband  that  had  nerve  'tacks.  I 
ain't  fitted  for  that  kind  er  trouble." 

121 


X 

REMINISCENCES   OF  JOEL 

IT  may  be  remembered  that  July  Burns  threat- 
ened to  come  over  and  teach  us  how  to 
make  "bumonge."  We  thought  that  perhaps 
fate  would  kindly  allow  her  to  forget  that  inten- 
tion. But,  no,  she  was  here  this  morning.  Again 
it  has  been  a  warm,  sultry  dog-day  and  we  were 
glad  to  let  the  fire  go  out  in  our  stove,  and  had 
decided  that  we  would  rather  eat  bread  and 
milk  for  our  dinner  than  prepare  anything  more 
elaborate.  We  were  in  our  sitting-room,  which 
is  on  the  shady  side  of  the  shanty.  The  locality 
naturally  varies  with  the  sun.  We  were  too 
tired  even  to  read.  It  was  at  such  a  time  that 
we  saw  Mrs.  Burns  coming  across  the  dike,  and 
again  she  bore  with  her  a  tin  quart  measure  and 
a  paper  bag.  It  was  hard  to  think  that  now, 
whether  we  would  or  not,  we  should  be  obliged 
to  learn  how  to  make  "bumonge." 

I  22 


Reminiscences  of  Joel 

The  sound  of  the  mowing  machine  was  once 
more  in  the  air,  and  Mr.  Peake  himself  was 
enthroned  upon  the  machine.  His  son  was 
turning  and  tossing  the  cut  grass  with  two  other 
men.  The  father  assured  us  that  he  never 
had  two  nerve  "'tacks"  very  nigh  together; 
therefore  our  spirits  were  high  in  the  hope  that 
now  our  grass  would  soon  be  cut,  cured,  and 
stored. 

But  there  was  Mrs.  Burns.  Truly,  trials  are 
ever  present.  When  she  had  waddled  up  to  a 
speaking  distance  she  told  us  that  we  looked  as 
cool  and  comfort'ble  as  cucumbers.  Why  is  a 
cucumber  chosen  as  the  vegetable  synonyme  of 
comfort  ?  She  informed  us  that  she  had  left  her 
young  man  fast  asleep  after  a  very  wakeful  night, 
during  which  she  had  hardly  had  a  minute's 
peace. 

"  I  tell  him,"  she  said,  sitting  down  heavily, 
"  that  I  guess  no  trained  nuss  would  n't  be  broke 
of  her  rest's  I  be  —  hm-m-m,  no,  not  as  I 
be.  'N'  I  told  him  I  should  git  somebody  to 
watch  with  him  to-night  so's  I  could  make  up 
my  sleep  some.  I  'm  er  goin*  ter  send  word  to 
Virginy  Vance  ter  come.  He 's  er  perkin'  up  won- 
123 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

dei  ful  like.  I  guess  he  wa'  n't  hurt's  much 's 
he  pertended ;  'n'  I  guess  too,  he  '11  find  out 
we  know  er  thing  er  two  down  here,  'f  we 
don't  live  in  er  city,  hm-m-m  —  er  city." 

Here  she  passed  instantly  into  a  state  of  deep 
meditation,  having  put  her  measure  of  milk  on 
the  ground  beside  her,  where  it  would  have 
been  immediately  examined  by  the  terrier  had 
we  not  forcibly  prevented  such  examination. 
My  friend,  after  looking  at  our  guest  for  some 
moments  in  silence,  proposed  that  we  run  away ' 
during  this  attack  of  meditation  on  the  part  of 
July  Burns,  and  thus  escape  learning  how  to 
make  "  bumonge."  But  I  had  not  the  moral 
courage  to  do  it.  I  was  afraid  of  offending  Mrs. 
Burns,  and  I  knew  that  the  whole  hamlet  would 
take  offence  through  her.  As  it  was,  I  had  a 
stinging  conviction  that  nearly  all  the  people 
near  felt  a  mild  and  pitying  contempt  for  us, 
arising,  I  think,  on  the  part  of  the  men  in  the 
fact  that  we,  as  females,  were  not  justified  in 
getting  in  our  own  grass.  On  the  part  of  the 
women,  I  fancy  the  contempt  sprang  up  because 
we  had  no  masculine  protectors,  and  had  taken  up 
with  a  "  pesky  long-haired  dog"  for  lack  of  any- 
124 


Reminiscences  of  Joel 

thing  better.  And  we  read  too  many  novels. 
You  may  have  noticed  that  among  this  kind  of 
people  everything  one  reads  is  a  novel.  "  Daniel 
Deronda  "  and  a  story  by  Mrs.  Southworth  are 
classed  under  one  head,  and  you  would  be  fool- 
ish indeed  if  you  tried  to  show  the  difference 
between  these  two  writers.  I  fell  into  such 
imbecility  once,  and  after  having  made  some 
remarks  which  I  thought  very  clear  on  this 
subject  to  Mrs.  Baker,  she  looked  at  me 
sharply  and  asked  if  all  them  books  I'd  ben 
talkin*  'bout  wa'n't  novels.  She  shut  her 
mouth  after  having  said  she  thought  so,  and 
added  that  she  had  been  brought  up  to  believe  a 
novel  was  a  novel ;  there  wa'n't  any  of  them 
true.  Subsequently  I  learned  that  she  had 
read  one  such  work  in  early  girlhood.  This 
work  was  T.  S.  Arthur's  "The  Maid,  Wife, 
and  Mother."  This  may  have  been  considered 
by  her  parents  as  too  stimulating  to  the  mental 
faculties,  for  it  was  the  last  one.  "To  spend 
your  time  a-readin' "  puts  you  in  a  low  place 
among  such  people.  You  might  better  be 
counting  beans  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  or 
sit  absolutely  idle  in  mind  and  body.  And  yet 
125 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

they  were  kind,  and,  being  among  them,  I  cared 
somewhat  for  their  good  opinion.  So  we  did 
not  run  away  from  Mrs.  Burns,  though  greatly 
tempted  to  do  so. 

As  it  turned  out,  we  were  not  compelled  to 
take  any  lessons  in  cooking  this  time,  for  when 
Mrs.  Burns  roused  herself  she  seemed  disinclined 
to  stir.  She  said  she  would  leave  the  moss  and 
milk,  and  we  might  try  it  again,  "  with  a  little 
more  jedgment  as  to  moss." 

She  was  sitting  in  our  best  camp-chair  and  I 
think  she  found  it  very  comfortable,  for  she  did 
not  move.  She  said  her  young  man  had  just 
taken  some  morfeen  the  doctor  had  left  for  him, 
and  as  it  was  a  kind  of  a  stiff  dose  she  guessed 
he  wouldn't  need  her  for  a  good  while. 

She  seemed  disposed  to  recall  memories  of  her 
earlier  life,  particularly  memories  concerning  her 
courtship  and  marriage.  We  had  heard  rumors 
that  Joel  Burns  was  a  poor  thing  in  every  way, 
and  that  his  wife  "had  had  her  trials."  He 
had  been  dead  several  years  now,  and  his  widow 
had  not  visibly  pined  under  the  affliction. 

She  now  sat,  inclining  forward  as  was  her 
custom,  her  heavy  cheeks  looking  heavier  than 
126 


Reminiscences  of  Joel 

ever  as  the  day,  warm  and  sweet,  began  to 
deepen  toward  noon.  There  was  a  shrill  and 
incessant  noise  of  crickets  on  the  air,  and  the 
sound  of  the  machine  was  constantly  coming 
near  and  then  receding,  as  Mr.  Peake  drove 
round  our  dike. 

I  saw  Mrs.  Burns' s  pale,  inexpressive  eyes 
wander  over  the  scene.  She  hitched  slightly  in 
her  chair,  and  then  said  that,  somehow,  August 
days  made  her  think  of  Joel.  Then  she  looked 
at  us  and  asked  if  we  ever  seen  Joel ;  she 
s' posed  we  hadn't.  No,  we  had  never  seen 
him.  And  neither  of  us  had  never  been  mer- 
ried  neither,  she  thought  likely.  We  reluctantly 
shook  our  heads  in  the  negative.  She  thought 
so  ;  folks  had  told  her  we  had  n't  been  able  to 
ketch  nobody. 

"Wall,  wall,"  with  a  slow  shake  of  her 
head,  "  I  've  been  thinkin'  of  Joel  mighty  strong 
all  day." 

She  continued  shaking  her  head  and  looking 
so  retrospective  that  she  was  asked  some  question 
concerning  Mr.  Burns.  She  was  undisguisedly 
grateful  for  the  chance  to  go  on  talking  about 
him.  She  said  she  had  married  Joel  in  August 
127 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

and  had  buried  him  in  August,  and  she  didn't 
know  as  folks  could  think  it  strange  if  she 
thought  of  him  in  August.  We  told  her  that 
folks  must  be  very  unreasonable  who  could  think 
strange  of  anything  like  that. 

"  Ee-us,  it  does  seem  so ;  ee-us,  it  does,' ' 
she  said.  "  But  folks  is  peculiar,  as  you  '11  find. 
'Cause  Joel  wasn't  all  he  should  be,  it  don't 
foller  that  I  shouldn't  think  of  him;  no,  it 
don't." 

Our  silence  assented  to  this  remark.  After  a 
moment  she  went  on,  with  a  slightly  apologetic 
manner,  speaking  in  her  slow  way  :  — 

"  I  wa'n't  much  acquainted  with  Joel  when 
I  merried  him,  though  he  'd  been  workin'  round 
in  the  neighborhood,  choppin'  wood.  He  told 
me  he  had  a  chance  to  take  a  farm  where  there 
was  an  old  man  and  woman.  He  'd  work  the 
farm,  and  he'd  bring  his  mother  over,  and  if 
I  'd  merry  him  his  mother  'd  help  do  the  work 
and  they  'd  all  keep  the  house.  He  never  told 
me  his  circumstances,  but  I  told  him  mine.  I 
told  him  I  was  poor,  my  father  and  mother  was 
poor,  and  I  had  n'  t  no  relative  but  what  was 
poor.  I  was  in  hopes  he  'd  tell  me  his  circum- 
128 


Reminiscences  of  Joel 

stances ;  but  I  was  led  to  believe  he  had  money, 
though  he  only  said  he  was  going  to  bring  his 
mother  over,  and  how  could  he  bring  her  over 
if  he  had  n't  no  money  ?  " 

We  here  interrupted  to  ask  where  the  mother 
of  Mr.  Burns  was  then  residing.  We  were 
told  that  she  was  to  be  brought  "  over"  from 
Maine.  We  inwardly  inquired  why  "  over," 
instead  of  "up,"  for  instance;  but  we  would 
not  puzzle  our  friend  with  any  such  question, 
for  we  were  entirely  willing  that  the  elder  Mrs. 
Burns  should  be  brought  over  from  Maine. 
July  went  on  :  — 

"  Some  folks  did  say  that  he  had  a  little  house 
over  there"  (in  Maine).  "'N'  he  said  to 
me,  '  July,  what  do  you  want  me  to  git  for  you 
to  go  to  housekeepin'  with  ? '  Would  n't  you 
er  thought  he  'd  had  money  if  he  'd  said  that  to 
you  ? " 

Mrs.  Burns' s  eyes  were  fixed  on  me  as  she 
unexpectedly  put  this  question,  and  I  was  neces- 
sarily forced  to  try  to  imagine  Joel  Burns  as 
asking  me  what  he  should  get  for  me  to  go 
to  housekeeping  witn.  As  soon  as  I  could  I 
answered  that  I  should  certainly  have  thought  he 
9  129 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

had  money  to  pay  for  household  goods.     Then 
Mrs.  Burns  resumed  :  — 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  about  Joel,  but  he  had 
his  failin's.  I  told  him  that  I  was  in  the  habit 
of  gittin'  along  with  a  very  little.  'N'  I  told 
him  if  I  could  have  a  bureau,  three  good  chairs, 
cane-bottom,  'n'  what  they  used  to  call  a  toilet 
set,  I  could  git  'long.  But  I  did  want  a  table. 
He  went  over  to  Rivertown  'n'  he  ordered  them 
things  up,  'n'  they  was  good  things,  too.  Now, 
what  do  you  think  ?  In  six  months'  time  the 
storekeeper  from  Rivertown  came  up,  'n'  he 
handed  the  bill  for  them  goods  to  my  father. 
Joel  hadn't  no  money.  My  father  paid  the 
bill,  'n'  we  started  agin,  outer  debt.  He  brought 
his  mother  over.  We  had  to  go  to  housekeepin' 
together.  I  did  let  her  wash  dishes  a  few  times. 
Wall,  hm-m-m,  wall,  she  was  a  curious  woman, 
Joel's  mother  was.  She  wa'n't  neat.  I 
could  n't  stand  it.  Joel  was  always  good  to  her. 
But  I  never  spent  a  cent  of  Joel's  money  while 
we  lived  together;  'n'  he  used  to  have  consid'- 
able  in  his  pocket  sometimes,  when  he  'd  been 
to  work  on  stone,  a  blarstin'  'n'  a  gittin'  out 
stone  for  underpinnin'  'n'  pos's.  But,  you 
130 


Reminiscences  of  Joel 

know,  after  a  little,  work  slacked.  He'd 
worked  up  the  rocks  round  there,  you  see. 
They  said  he  was  a  marster  hand  at  blarstin'. 
He  could  calkilate  'bout  the  right  amount  er 
powder  for  the  kind  er  stone  he  wanted.  Ee-us, 
everybody  said  he  was  a  marster  hand  at  blarst- 
in'. But  he  couldn't  do  much  but  blarst, 
which  made  it  inconvenient  when  the  rocks 
were  gone.  So  there  wa'n't  nothin'  left  but 
farmin',  'n'  choppin'  wood  winters. 

"  I  did  have  eighty  dollars  when  I  merried 
him.  I  let  him  have  five  to  a  time,  and  never 
arst  him  for  it.  He  had  the  rent  to  pay  and 
victuals  to  git.  Finally  he  brought  over  Ruth, 
his  sister.  Then  he  brought  over  Nancy, 
another  sister.  They  was  both  widders.  'N' 
his  sister  that  married  a  Brett  was  with  us  a  good 
deal.  Nancy  was  a  poor,  sickly  thing,  and  we 
had  to  keep  her  in  victuals.  Wall,  't  wa'n't 
always  pleasant  at  our  house.  No,  it  wa'n't." 

These  accumulating  memories  were  very  vivid 
and  of  a  nature  to  tend  to  make  us  resigned  to 
the  fact  that  we  "  had  n' t  ben  able  to  ketch 
nobody."  Mrs.  Burns  paused  a  moment  in 
her  retrospect,  and  I  was  afraid  she  was  going 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

to  meditate.  The  sun  was  creeping  round  the 
corner  of  the  shanty,  and  we  must  change  our 
sitting-room.  But  July  did  not  meditate.  She 
was  thinking  of  her  sisters-in-law. 

"Ee-us,"  she  went  on.  (It  has,  I  hope, 
been  perceived  that  this  was  her  way  of  saying 
"yes.")  "  Ee-us,  Nancy's  folks  had  flour 
outer  our  barrel  for  a  whole  year.  The  time 
come  when  we  did  n't  have  nothin'  in  the 
house.  'T  was  'bout  this  time  that  Joel  said 
he  guessed  he'd  go  over  to  Maine  'n'  git  a  jorb 
er  stone.  'N'  he  went  with  his  stone  tools,  'n' 
he  promised  me  he  'd  write  soon  's  he  got  there. 
I  waited  seven  weeks,  'n'  then  I  wrote  to  a 
friend  of  his'n,  arsking  if  Joel  was  livin'.  Instid 
of  arnserin'  my  letter,  up  he  comes,  'n'  then  I 
found  he  'd  hired  him  land  'n'  planted  him  a 
garden,  'n'  hired  a  housekeeper.  '  Now,'  says 
he,  '  that  I  'm  here  '  —  calm  as  a  clock  —  'I 
guess  I  '11  let  myself  a-hayin' . '  And  he  did  let 
himself  to  Cobbett,  that  owns  the  next  dike  to 
yourn.  I  said,  to  him:  'Joel,  you  hain't  no 
clo'es  nor  nothin'.'  You  see  he'd  left  all  his 
things  over  there  in  Maine,  his  trunk  'n'  all. 
He  sold  his  stone  tools  to  come  home  with.  I 
132 


Reminiscences  of  Joel 

went  to  work  'n'  I  hunted  him  up  some  old 
clo'es,  'n'  I  patched  urn,  'n'  he  wore  um. 
He  earned  some  money  hayin',  but  I  never 
seen  a  cent  of  it." 

Here  came  another  pause.  Mrs.  Burns's 
flabby  face  was  flushed  and  covered  with  perspi- 
ration, whether  from  the  heat  or  from  the 
power  of  bygone  times  I  could  not  tell.  She 
tried  to  rouse  herself. 

"  So  it  went  on  year  by  year.  Joel  was 
always  a  gittin'  into  such  scrapes.  One  time  he 
got  a  lame  white  horse  in  Rivertown,  'n'  he 
traded  that  horse  for  a  tin  peddler's  horse  'n' 
give  him  'leven  dollars  to  boot.  Then  he 
wa'n't  satisfied  till  he  had  traded  that  animil 
for  one  with  the  awfulest  spring  halt  you  ever 
seen.  And  he  had  n't  no  use  for  a  horse,  any- 
way. Wall,  hm-m-m.  He 's  dead  'n'  gone, 
'n'  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  him.  He  had  his 
failin's.  If  he'd  only  consulted  me  sometimes, 
we'd  ergot  'long  better.  If  folks  'd  known 
how  't  was  they  would  n't  wondered  we  were  so 
poor.  What  become  of  the  little  house  they 
said  he  had  over  in  Maine  ?  Oh,  he  never  had 
none. 

'33 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"Here  I  have  been  a  settin'  'n'  talkin'.  But 
these  August  days  do  bring  Joel  up  so  plain.  I 
must  be  a-gittin'  back  to  see  how  that  morfeen's 
a  workin'  on  my  young  man.  'N'  I'm  goin' 
up  to  Mar  Baker's  to  see  if  she '11  send  'Zias 
over  to  tell  Virginy  Vance  I  want  her  to  help 
me  watch  ter  night." 

We  volunteered  to  go  up  to  Mrs.  Baker's  and 
save  her  that  walk,  for  walking  seemed  to  be  a 
kind  of  locomotion  almost  beyond  the  powers  of 
her  unwieldy  frame.  She  said  she  should  thank 
us  kindly,  for  she  wa'n't  so  spry  as  she  wished 
she  was. 

She  went  her  v/ay  over  the  dike  toward  Mrs. 
Grant's,  and  while  we  watched  her  and  thought 
of  what  she  had  been  telling  us,  Orlando  suc- 
ceeded in  eating  part  of  the  milk  that  was  to 
have  helped  to  make  bumonge. 


'34 


XI 

HELPING   MRS.  BURNS  WATCH 

IT  appeared  that  Ozias  must  have  done  his 
errand  faithfully,  for  the  next  morning  while 
we  were  brewing  our  coffee  "Virginy"  ap- 
peared at  the  door  of  the  shanty.  She  looked 
tired,  but  she  spoke  no  more  lingeringly  than 
usual. 

She  said  the  odor  of  the  coffee  had  tempted 
her  to  stop,  for  "  she  'd  ben  er  watchin'  with 
July  Burns' s  young  man,"  and  the  young  man 
had  kept  her  waiting  upon  him  to  a  fatiguing 
extent. 

Mrs.  Burns  had  explained  his  excessive  irri- 
tability by  saying  that  his  bones  was  er  knittin', 
*n'  when  er  man's  bones  was  knittin'  he  was 
justified  in  wearin'  his  nusses  into  the  grave. 

In  addition  to  the  patient,   Miss  Vance  had 

had    Mrs.    Burns    on    a    lounge    snoring    in  so 

deafening  and  persistent  a  manner  as  to  greatly 

confuse  the  girl,  who  had  come  near  putting  an 

135 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

end  to  the  life  of  her  charge  by  giving  him 
to  drink  of  the  lotion  for  a  bruise  in  place  of 
the  potion  that  was  meant  for  internal  healing. 
It  was  only  because  the  young  man  was  so  very 
wide  awake  and  so  keenly  critical  that  the  mis- 
take was  discovered  in  time. 

"  I  had  poured  a  wine  glass  of  the  stuff," 
said  Miss  Vance,  as  she  discriminatingly  sipped 
her  coffee,  "  and  he  swallowed  some  of  it,  and 
cried  out  'the  devil'  in  such  a  terrible  way  that 
I  quite  jumped,  —  then  he  tasted  again  and  told 
me  that  that  infernal  imp  of  a  nurse  must  have 
put  the  bottles  wrong.  I  assured  him  that  I 
must  be  the  imp  he  meant,  for  I  had  poured  it 
out  of  a  certain  tall  vial,  which  I  went  and 
brought  with  the  lamp  that  we  might  examine. 
Anything  was  better  than  waking  Mrs.  Burns, 
even  if  I  could  have  wakened  her. 

"  When  I  had  the  little  kerosene  hand-lamp  I 
looked  at  the  bottle,  and  exclaimed  in  a  great 
fright,  for  the  label  read  'Lotion — to  be  rubbed 
on  the  bruises.'  I  supposed  I  had  poisoned 
Mrs.  Burns's  young  man. 

"  Evidently  while  I  examined  the  lotion,  he 
examined  me,  and  it  was  the  first  time  he  had 
136 


Helping  Mrs.  Burns  Watch 

had  a  chance  to  see  me,  except  in  the  dusk, 
for  I  had  the  lamp  shaded  on  a  table  at  the 
end  of  the  room. 

"  As  he  looked  at  me  he  raised  himself  a  trifle 
on  his  pillow.  He  groaned  and  fell  back  and 
said  '  the  devil '  again.  Whereupon  he  begged 
my  pardon  and  explained  that  he  didn't  feel  in- 
clined to  say  anything  but  the  devil,  and  he 
wanted  to  say  that  all  the  time,  for  it  was  the 
only  phrase  that,  in  his  circumstances,  ex- 
pressed anything. 

"  I  answered  him  that  it  was  very  evident  that 
he  felt  an  inclination  to  make  that  remark,  and 
that,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  he  might  continue 
making  it  all  night.  If  it  relieved  him  any  I 
was  glad  of  it.  He  said  it  didn't  relieve  him 
any,  but  he  hoped  every  time  that  it  would. 
Nothing  relieved  him,  he  went  on,  groaning 
again. 

"  Then  he  bethought  himself  to  say  that,  if 
anything  could  soothe  his  pain  it  would  be 
the  presence  of  so  charming  a  young  lady. 

"  Here  I  thanked  him,  and  said  that  he  might 
better  stick  to  his  former  remark,  and   that    he 
was  too  ill  to  try  compliments  on  his  watcher. 
137 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"  All  this  time  I  had  been  holding  the  lamp 
and  the  lotion  bottle.  Now  I  took  away  the 
glass  I  had  given  him,  saying,  as  cheerfully  as  I 
could,  that  I  was  like  a  doctor,  for  doctors  fre- 
quently gave  the  wrong  medicine. 

"He  hastened  to  respond  that  it  was  no  mat- 
ter, —  that  any  medicine  from  my  hands,  etc. 
I  told  him  again  that  he  was  not  well  enough 
to  try  to  flirt. 

"  He  replied  to  this  by  saying  that  if  I  would 
give  him  any  encouragement  that  I  would  allow 
him  even  to  mildly  flirt  with  me  when  he  got 
well,  the  thought  would  be  the  greatest  induce- 
ment, and  so  on.  I  tell  you  it  was  all  very 
droll." 

Here  the  girl  paused  and  smiled  down  into 
her  coffee  cup  as  she  remembered  the  last  few 
hours. 

*•'  And  did  you  give  him  the  encouragement?  " 
asked  my  friend. 

Miss  Vance  looked  up  with  a  whimsical  ex- 
pression on  her  face.  I  could  hardly  tell 
whether  she  really  meant  what  she  said  as  she 
replied. 

"  Of  course  I  did.  One  must  indulge  the 
138 


Helping  Mrs.  Burns  Watch 

notions  of  people  who  are  ill,  you  know,  and 
I  don't  suppose  he  was  very  sincere.  I  promised 
him  that  he  should  not  lack  the  incentive,  that 
is,  if  he  should  survive  the  taking  of  the  stuff  I 
had  given  him.  I  then  administered  the  proper 
medicine.  I  suffered  all  night  for  fear  I  should 
detect  some  symptom  caused  by  my  mistake. 
He  was  very  wakeful  for  a  good  while,  and  he 
would  converse.  He  informed  me  that  he  had 
never  dreamed  of  seeing  a  person  like  me  in  a 
little  sea-coast  village." 

She  gave  her  mellow  laugh  as  she  said  this. 

"  I  reckon  he  meant  such  a  remark  to  be  taken 
as  a  compliment.  I  let  him  know  that  there  were 
often  people  superior  even  to  me  found  in  New 
England  towns.  He  said  he  could  not  believe 
it ;  he  did  not  know  much  about  New  England, 
but  he  could  not  believe  that. 

"  He  made  me  get  the  lamp  and  put  it  where 
he  could  see  me.  He  said  he  felt  like  talking, 
and  it  was  embarrassing  to  talk  to  a  person  whom 
you  could  not  see.  When  he  did  not  talk  he 
stared.  I  was  so  anxious  all  the  time  about  the 
little  he  had  taken  from  that  glass  that  very  likely 
I  indulged  him  more  than  I  ought.  Do  you 
'39 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

think  I  indulged  him  more  than  I  ought  ?  Do 
you  think  it  was  wrong  to  allow  him  to  talk 
when  he  should  have  been  trying  to  sleep?" 

Miss  Vance  put  her  spoon  in  her  cup  and 
looked  apprehensively  at  us.  We  hardly  knew 
what  to  say,  and  only  made  some  kind  of  a  mur- 
mur. She  went  on. 

"I  never  saw  any  one  so  wide-awake  as  he 
was.  Can  you  fancy  me  sitting  there  near  his 
bed,  with  the  lamp  in  my  hand,  listening  to 
him  ?  His  eyes  looked  so  large  and  his  face  so 
interested  that  I  grew  very  nervous  as  I  watched 
for  some  sign  to  tell  me  I  had  poisoned  him.  I 
tried  to  think  of  antidotes  for  different  poisons. 
I  resolved,  if  he  showed  the  least  sign  of  any- 
thing, I  would  get  the  whites  of  a  good  many 
eggs  and  make  him  swallow  them.  I  looked 
forward  to  my  feelings  in  the  future  if  he  should 
die  because  of  what  I  had  given  him.  It  was  a 
great  consolation  to  see  that  he  did  not  look  in 
the  least  like  dying. 

"  After  I  had  sat  thus  holding  the  lamp  for 
an  hour,  I  thought  I  had  done  enough,  even 
for  a  sick  man  whose  death  I  was  afraid  I  had 
hastened. 

140 


Helping  Mrs.  Burns  Watch 

"It  was  terribly  close,  and  the  lamp  made  it 
worse.  I  carried  it  to  the  stand  and  shaded  it. 
I  was  going  to  remain  there.  He  begged  me  to 
come  and  fan  him.  I  did  so ;  but  I  forbade 
him  to  speak  another  word.  I  could  see  his 
eyes  gleaming  as  I  leaned  over  him.  By  this 
time  I  felt  quite  as  if  he  were  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. I  wonder  if  all  men  are  so  childish  when 
they  are  ill.  He  wouldn't  let  me  move  away. 
You  see,  I  had  to  be  very  gentle,  because  he 
was  ill,  and  because  I  wasn't  sure  yet  whether 
1  had  killed  him  or  not." 

"  Perhaps  you  were  too  gentle,"  here  inter- 
rupted my  friend,  with  what  seemed  an  un- 
necessary earnestness. 

The  girl  looked  at  the  speaker  in  astonish- 
ment. She  answered  that  she  supposed  that 
one  couldn't  be  too  gentle  at  such  a  time,  as 
we  should  know  if  we  were  ever  in  like 
circumstances. 

She  resumed :  — 

"  But  I  was  firm  about  not  talking.  Now 
that  we  were  silent,  Mrs.  Burns  became  more 
audible  than  before,  or  we  had  a  better  chance 
to  hear  her. 

141 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"It  didn't  seem  to  me  so  much  snoring  as  a 
kind  of  bellowing.  She  lay  on  a  lounge  in  the 
room.  The  lounge  was  drawn  across  an  open 
window,  so  that  if  there  should  be  a  breeze, 
she  would  feel  it.  Her  young  man  had  told 
me,  before  I  interdicted  talking,  that  Mrs. 
Burns  breathed  all  the  air  there  was  first,  and 
he  thought  it  confounded  hard  that  he  should 
have  to  breathe  second-hand  air,  and  sometimes 
he  had  felt  as  if  he  would  stop  breathing  any- 
way ;  and  he  would  have  done  it  long  ago  if 
she  would  have  been  annoyed.  He  asked  me 
if  she  had  ever  told  me  about  Joel  and  his 
mother  that  he  brought  over  from  Maine,  and 
her  sister  that  married  a  Brett.  When  I  said 
no,  he  said  I  didn't  know  how  lucky  I  was,  for 
he  knew  all  about  'em;  in  fact,  he  didn't  know 
much  else,  and  he  did  n'  t  see  how  he  could, 
considering  how  often  he  had  heard  their  history. 
I  see  you  know,"  and  she  paused  while  we  all 
laughed. 

"As  Mrs.  Burns  retired  to  her  couch,  after 

I  came  last  evening,  she  told  me  she  was  '  goin* 

ter  lop  ri'  down  there  so 's  ter  be  handy 'f  I 

wanted  her ; '    and  she  added  in  a  loud  whisper, 

142 


Helping  Mrs.  Burns  Watch 

which  Mrs.  Grant  might  have  heard  in  the 
kitchen,  that  if  there  was  any  change  I  must  be 
sure'n'  call  her.  She  said  he  seemed  better,  but 
nothin'  was  so  deceivin'  as  appearances,  and  she 
was  always  on  the  watch  for  a  change  at  'bout 
the  turn  of  the  night. 

"  Are  you  tired  of  my  little  story  ? ' '  asked 
the  girl. 

Perhaps  our  faces  assured  her  of  our  interest, 
for  she  went  on,  — 

"I  haven't  much  more  to  tell.  The  poor 
fellow  fell  asleep  while  I  was  fanning  him.  He 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  profound  slumber,  and  I 
was  almost  dreaming  myself,  when  Mrs.  Burns 
began  to  make  a  yet  stronger  noise  than  any  she 
had  perpetrated.  While  I  was  on  my  way  to 
her  to  arouse  her,  she  sat  bold  upright,  and 
screamed  '  fire  ! '  enough  to  move  a  block  of 
stone.  It  was  all  I  could  do  not  to  scream  also. 
I  jumped  at  her,  and  did  n't  spare  her.  I  heard 
the  sick  man  swearing  in  his  bed,  and  in  a 
moment  Mr.  Grant  came  fumbling  through  the 
entry  to  the  open  door. 

"  I  explained  that  Mrs.  Burns  had  had  a 
nightmare.  Mrs.  Burns  further  made  it  clear 
H3 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

in  a  very  aggrieved  tone,  that  she  '  never  had  no 
nightmare  'less  she  was  wore  out.  She  couldn't 
remember  when  she'd  ben  so  wore  out  by 
anybody  's  she  'd  been  by  that  critter  that  was 
cussin'  on  the  bed  there.  If  it  hadn't  ben  for 
him  she  should  n't  dreamt  of  fire  V  routed  herself 
up,  when  she  needed  all  the  rest  she  could  git.' 

"  Mr.  Grant  muttered  something  about  other 
folks  needing  rest  too,  and  shuffled  away  again. 

"  Long  before  I  had  ceased  trembling  from  the 
start  I  had  received,  Mrs.  Burns  was  snoring 
again,  and  our  patient  was  asleep  almost  as  soon. 
You  see  what  an  adventureful  night  I  have 
had.  Do  you  wonder  I  wanted  some  coffee, 
and  to  tell  you  all  about  my  first  watching  ? 
After  the  nightmare  the  hours  passed  quietly. 
Did  you  know  when  the  fog  cleared  and  the 
wind  came  out  east  ?  It  was  wonderful.  Just 
before  daylight  I  heard  a  strange  moan  as  if  from 
some  giant  far  out  at  sea  there." 

The  girl  rose  and  walked  to  the  door  of  the 
shanty,  looking  off  across  the  flat  which  now  lay 
beneath  a  brilliant  sun,  for  the  "muggy-spell  " 
had  cleared  without  any  rain.  Nothing  brought 
rain  of  late. 

144 


Helping  Mrs.  Burns  Watch 

Her  profile  was  in  the  clear  light.  It  was  in 
seeing  her  thus,  possibly,  that  one  could  know 
more  in  detail  why  her  face  was  so  charming. 
Its  very  darkness  was  a  charm  ;  its  very  irregu- 
larity, which  defied  rules,  was  another  charm. 
Let  me  be  contradictory,  and  say  with  sweeping 
inclusiveness  that  it  was  not  her  face  at  all ;  it 
could  not  have  been  ;  but  that  it  was  herself — 
her  personality,  her  "  atmosphere  ' '  —  that  held 
a  certain  allurement  as  indescribable  as  it  was 
real,  and  of  which  she  was  evidently  entirely 
ignorant. 

"  You  did  not  know  when  the  wind 
changed  ? "  she  asked,  still  with  her  eyes  on  the 
flat.  "  You  missed  a  great  deal.  I  have  to 
thank  Mrs.  Burns  for  not  waking  at  three  as  she 
said  she  would,  and  taking  my  place.  Every- 
body in  the  house  seemed  sound  asleep  at  about 
four.  My  patient  was  resting  so  well  that  I 
crept  out  of  the  house.  Even  then  it  was  suffo- 
cating, and  there  was  a  thick  gray  mist  every- 
where. For  all  the  sound  the  ocean  made  it 
might  have  been  a  thousand  miles  away.  I  was 
tired.  Now  that  I  felt  sure  that  I  had  n'  t 
poisoned  any  one,  I  was  feeling  limp  with  the 
10  145 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

reaction  from  my  tense  state.  I  really  would 
have  liked  to  cry  from  sheer  relief.  I  'm  not 
sure  that  I  did  not  weep  a  very  little  as  I  stood 
alone  out  there  at  the  end  of  the  house.  You 
see  I  had  had  no  coffee  then.  Although  I  had 
no  wrap  on  I  was  warm.  All  at  once,  over 
there,"  she  lifted  a  hand,  "something  seemed 
to  draw  a  long  sobbing  breath,  and  the  whole 
fog  felt  that  breath  and  made  a  curious  little 
movement.  I  began  to  be  cold.  I  crept  in 
and  took  Mrs.  Burns' s  great  blanket  shawl  and 
went  out  again  with  it  huddled  about  me.  I 
felt  as  if  the  great  out-of-doors  would  show  me 
something  if  I  were  only  there  to  see  ;  and  it 
did.  But  how  can  I  tell  ?  It  is  still  new  to 
me,  this  being  on  the  coast,"  she  said  as  if  in 
apology.  "  The  very  scent  of  the  salt  water 
makes  me  happy,"  she  drew  a  deep  breath, 
"  and  these  great  flats,  —  there  is  not  a  spear  of 
grass,  nor  a  grasshopper  on  them  that  I  don't 
love;  Uncle  Peake  says  I  am  'marked.'  Since 
I  came  here  there  has  something  stirred  in  my 
blood,  —  some  kind  of  a  new  life ;  it  is  the 
salt  wind  and  trie  ocean  and  these  marshes,  — • 
they  all  tell  me  I  am  my  mother's  daughter." 
146 


Helping  Mrs.  Burns  Watch 

She  still  spoke  deliberately,  but  with  a  certain 
intensity  I  had  never  noticed  in  her  before. 

Soon  with  a  slight  movement  of  her  head  and 
shoulders  she  banished  this  mood  which  might 
reveal  too  much. 

"  That  first  chill  was  the  first  breath  of  a  clear 
east  wind,  —  not  one  which  brings  mist,  but 
one  which  dispels  it.  The  fog  felt  it  quicker 
than  I  did,  and  wavered  before  it.  Presently  I 
heard  a  rush  of  wings  over  my  head  and  saw  the 
white  breasts  of  some  gulls  as  they  flew  above 
me.  How  white  those  feathers  looked  in  the 
grayness  which  now  began  to  grow  luminous  !s 
The  morning  was  coming  in  from  the  sea.  It 
is  the  sea,  you  know,  which  sends  us  each  new 
day.  It  comes  in  splendor  over  that  lustrous 
water  for  leagues  and  leagues,  growing  brighter 
and  brighter  until  it  is  one  unutterable  glory." 

She  ceased  speaking  and  looked  at  us  with  a 
kind  of  shy  deprecation  of  her  enthusiasm  upon 
her  face. 

"  Do  not  laugh  at  me,"    she  said.     Then, 

more   assuredly,    "  Bat    you    will    not.       You 

would  not  have  come  to  live  on  the  dike  if  you 

had  not  known  what  I  have  been  talking  about. 

'47 


la  a  Dike  Shanty 

You  should  have  seen  the  thick  fog  grow  thin 
and  quiver,  and  undulate,  long  ribbons  of  it 
shining  like  a  diaphanous  silver  robe  which  the 
night  was  casting  aside.  I  never  saw  a  fog 
ripple  before,  but  this  did  so  when  the  wind 
grew  a  bit  stronger.  Presently  a  level  bar  of 
sunshine  touched  it  and  the  breeze  grew  stronger 
at  the  same  moment.  The  gauze  of  the  fog 
was  flung  off  in  long  scrolls  that  trembled  and 
lingered  here  and  there,  but  very  soon  there 
stood  the  naked  day  in  the  cloudless  sunshine, 
lusty,  and  strong,  and  glorious.  How  the  birds 
flew  !  How  sweet  the  wind  was !  How  the 
sand  cliffs  sparkled !  Over  there  where  there 
are  no  cliffs,  I  could  see  the  very  topmost  sail 
of  a  ship. 

"  In  a  few  minutes  more,  as  the  clock  in  the 
kitchen  struck  five,  I  heard  Mr.  Grant  jingle 
the  milk-pail  against  the  door  as  he  started  for  the 
barn.  He  was  not  more  than  half  awake,  and 
he  came  out  stretching,  followed  by  the  cat  who 
was  stretching  too.  When  he  saw  me  he  nodded 
and  said  he  hoped  Miss  Burns  rested  well,  for  if 
she  did  n't,  he  was  sorry  for  the  young  feller, 
and  how  was  I  myself? 

148 


Helping  Mrs.  Burns  Watch 

"  When  I  went  back,  the  house  was  still  close 
and  warm,  but  the  wind  swept  it  cool  when  I 
set  open  an  east  window. 

"  Neither  the  patient  nor  his  nurse  wakened 
until  a  short  time  ago,  and  then  I  came  away. 
But  I  promised  Mr.  Ross  I  would  call  there 
before  night.  You  knew  his  name  is  Ross? 
He  said  what  I  had  given  him  might  be  rather 
of  a  slow  poison,  and  it  would  be  only 
humane  for  me  to  come  and  see  how  he  bore 
it.  I  think  he  w.ill  bear  it  very  well,  much 
better  than  I  could  bear  being  nursed  by  July 
Burns. 

"If  there  is  any  coffee  left  I  will  have  that 
lovely  china  cup  half  full,  thank  you.  I  am  so 
glad  you  had  to  take  some  dike  land  for  debt, 
otherwise  I  could  never  have  had  this  divine 
coffee  from  a  diviner  cup." 

As  I  gave  her  the  cream  I  said  I  supposed  she 
would  now  be  considered  to  have  helped  July 
Burns  to  watch. 

"  Yes.  She  will  have  the  honor.  It  is  a 
case  of 

1  The  page  slew  the  boare, 
But  the  prince  had  the  gloire.'  " 
149 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

She  set  down  her  cup,  smiled  at  us,  said 
good-by,  and  sauntered  out  across  the  dike 
toward  the  road. 

Have  I  recorded  that  when  this  girl  smiled 
one  was  likely  to  have  a  permeating  and 
pleasurable  knowledge  that  she  did  so  ? 

As  she  climbed  the  fence  a  man  came  rapidly 
along  the  road  with  a  hay-fork  and  rake  over 
his  shoulder.  He  put  down  these  implements 
and  hastened  to  the  girl's  help.  The  two  lin- 
gered a  while,  and  when  the  man  walked  on 
to  our  dike  and  began  turning  hay  we  saw  that 
it  was  Leife  Peake.  He  was  soon  followed  by 
his  father  and  more  men,  and  the  work  of  hay- 
making was  in  full  progress  beneath  a  clear  sky. 

That  afternoon  when  Mrs.  Burns  took  what 
she  called  her  "  airin'  "  she  waddled  over  to 
our  shanty.  She  was  extremely  solemn.  She 
said  that  Virginy  Vance  had  cle-an  bewitched 
that  Ross  feller.  He  was  talkin'  'bout  the  gal 
all  day,  'n'  cussin'  awful  'cause  he  was  tied 
down  to  that  bed. 

"But,  land's  sake!  He  won't  be  tied  down 
there  long.  I  must  say  I  do  hate  to  see  gals 
bold 's  brass.  They  did  n't  useter  be  so.  Ye 
150 


Helping  Mrs.  Burns  Watch 

see  I  got  her  to  help  me  watch.  I  was  erwake 
three  quarters  of  the  time  myself,  but  I  s'pose 
when  I  did  ketch  er  nap  she  jest  talked  'n' 
talked.  She 's  got  a  kinder  takin'  way  with 
her,  ye  know,  'n' I  s'pose  he  kinder  sensed  it. 
He's  arst  more  questions  'bout  her  ter  day  than 
I  c'n  shake  a  stick  at.  Hm-m-m." 

Mrs.  Burns  sighed  and  fell  to  meditating,  as 
usual  in  our  easiest  chair,  — sometimes  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  she  occupied  that  chair  more  than 
we  did. 


XII 

STOWING   HAY  WITH  OZIAS 

I  HAD  always  supposed,  until  a  recent  experi- 
ence, that  riding  on  a  load  of  hay  was  a 
pleasure  which  condensed  nearly  every  joy  of  a 
free,  sweet  life  in  the  country,  and  gave  you 
a  taste  of  them  all  at  once.  Now  I  think  that 
riding  a  hay-load  and  riding  a  camel  for  the  first 
time  must  greatly  resemble  each  other  in  effect. 
We  did  this  unaccustomed  thing  partly  in  the 
way  of  celebrating  a  great  event,  or  rather  a  great 
consummation.  Our  grass  is  cut  and  cured  and 
in  the  barn.  When  we  go  to  our  bunks  to-night 
it  will  be  as  two  conquering  generals,  who  have 
overcome  many  difficulties,  and  who  retire  with 
an  inebriating  sense  of  victory.  I  don't  know 
how  great  the  sense  of  victory  will  be  when  we 
learn  what  we  owe  Rodge  Peake,  but  to-day  I 
do  not  feel  like  looking  forward  to  that  hour, 
for  I  have  heard  that  often  a  success  is  as  costly 

as  a  defeat. 

152 


Stowing  Hay  with  Ozias 

At  half  past  three  this  afternoon  Mr.  Peake 
came  to  our  door  and  said  that  they  were 
going  to  begin  on  the  last  load,  and  would  we 
like  to  come  out  and  help  stow  it  ?  The  idea 
seemed  to  us  a  good  one,  and  we  hastily  put 
on  our  broad  hats  and  went  across  the  hot  flat 
in  the  direction  of  the  collection  of  haycocks, 
accompanied  by  Mr.  Peake,  who,  since  his 
nerve  'tack,  has  been  more  genial  and  good- 
humored  than  ever.  As  we  went  on,  crowds 
of  grasshoppers  flew  up  with  every  step  we  took 
in  the  stubble ;  flocks  of  small  blackbirds  were 
sweeping  through  the  air  in  short  flights,  then 
settling  on  fences  and  savin  trees  out  by  the  road. 

When  we  had  walked  thus  far,  we  saw  Vir- 
ginia up  on  the  highway,  and  we  signalled  to 
her  by  a  moving  of  rakes  and  forks.  She  came 
over  the  shaky  fence  in  a  very  dexterous  manner, 
and  soon  joined  us.  We  explained  to  her  the 
nature  of  the  treat  in  prospect,  and  she  was  more 
than  willing  to  share  our  experience,  whatever 
it  should  prove.  She  nodded  at  Leife,  as  if  she 
had  but  recently  parted  from  him. 

There  was  scarcely  any  breeze,  and  what 
there  was  came  from  the  east,  and  brought  with 
»53 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

it  a  sound  of  waves  and  an  odor  of  salt.  It  was 
rare  and  pleasant  on  the  dike  as  we  went  on, 
the  terrier  starting  up  a  good  many  grasshoppers 
on  his  own  account,  as  he  careered  here  and 
there  ahead  of  us.  Noticing  the  birds,  Mr. 
Peake  said  he  always  felt  as  if  fall  was  about  here 
when  he  saw  them,  and  that  he  ought  to  be 
gittin'  in  his  winter  coal.  Then  he  turned  to 
us  and  said,  he  hoped  we'd  'scuse  him  for 
callin'  us  out  on  false  pretences,  as  it  were ;  but 
the  fact  was,  Mar  Baker's  idjit  had  come  onto 
the  dike  a  little  while  ago,  and  he  had  ben 
raisin'  Cain  'bout  ridin'  on  the  load,  and  Mr. 
Peake  didn't  feel  as  if  he  could  be  responsible  if 
'Zias  did  ride,  and  did  fall  off. 

"It's  'nough  for  me,  'n'  more  than  Mar 
Baker  will  ever  forgive,  that  I  chopped  off  small 
bits  of  'Zias's  toes  when  I  couldn't  help  it. 
There  he  is." 

Yes,  there  was  Ozias  looming  up  at  the  other 
side  of  the  cart.  He  was  raking  furiously  after ; 
and  he  had  an  air  about  him  as  if  he  had  run 
away,  and  did  n't  care  if  he  had.  He  hung  his 
head  and  would  not  look  at  me  when  I  asked 
him  if  he  remembered  that  his  mother  had  for- 


Stowing  Hay  with  Ozias 

bidden  him  to  work  haying.  He  said  he  guessed 
his  mar  didn't  know  everything,  and  he  guessed 
his  mar  had  forgot  that  he  was  bigger '  n  she  was, 
anyway. 

"That's  the  way  he  is  to-day,"  whispered 
Mr.  Peake  by  my  side.  "And  you  can't  do 
a  thing  with  him.  He  's  continually  gittin'  be- 
hind that  off  horse,  'n'  she  kicks  like  thunder 
when  she  's  a  mind  to.  I'm  free  to  say  that  I 
can' t  tend  to  my  work ;  it  just  makes  me  sweat 
to  look  at  him.  Can't  you  coax  him  home, 
Virginy  ? " 

Even  Miss  Vance,  who  sometimes  had  influ- 
ence with  the  boy,  had  no  influence  with  him 
now.  He  stuck  out  his  lips  and  wagged  his 
head  in  a  way  that  made  one  want  to  shake 
him. 

Perhaps  it  is  only  a  wise  man  who  will  allow 
himself  to  be  coaxed ;  certain  it  is  that  this  fool 
was  proof  against  all  our  pleading,  and  all  the 
bribes  we  could  offer  him  in  the  hope  that  he 
would  go  home.  He  did  waver  a  little  when 
we  promised  to  take  him  to  the  Brant,  and  give 
him  unlimited  ice-cream  ;  but  he  withstood  even 
that  seduction,  and  went  on  raking.  At  Mr. 
155 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

Peake's  suggestion,  one  of  the  men  went  up  on 
to  the  road  to  Mar  Baker's  house,  to  find  it 
locked.  Then  we  were  sure  that  Mrs.  Baker 
had  gone  away,  and  equally  sure,  knowing  her 
never-failing  and  anxious  care  for  her  son,  that 
she  believed  she  had  arranged  for  his  safety,  but 
that  he  had  brought  such  plans  to  naught.  Im- 
possible to  get  any  information  from  Ozias.  If 
we  asked  him  a  question  he  would  either  laugh 
or  sulk. 

"  Let  us  take  him  on  the  load  with  us,"  said 
my  friend ;  and  we  did  so,  finding  that  stowing 
hay  on  a  cart  and  riding  on  it  were  occupations 
dear  to  the  soul  of  Ozias. 

I  know  that  we  were  at  a  great  disadvantage 
in  judging  of  the  pleasures  of  being  on  a  load  of 
hay  in  that  we  had  Ozias  with  us  to  share  those 
pleasures.  He  was  so  alert  and  so  active,  and 
was  so  constandy  on  the  point  of  falling  off",  and 
resented  so  strongly  our  efforts  to  keep  him  from 
pitching  over  the  side,  that  the  next  hour  was  an 
hour  of  agony  to  us,  and  one  we  shall  remember 
with  terror  all  our  lives. 

Virginia,  who  does  not  have  what  we  New 
England  people  call  "nerves,"  was  tortured 
156 


Stowing  Hay  with  Ozias 

with  us  in  view  of  the  fate  which  must  eventu- 
ally befall  Ozias  if  we  were  not  alert  to  the  pitch 
of  panic. 

She  shared  all  our  struggles  to  keep  him  in 
safety.  She  was  roused  to  a  greater  physical 
activity  than  I  had  ever  seen  her  manifest  before. 
She  plunged  here  and  there  after  Mar  Baker's 
son  with  such  reckless  zeal  for  his  welfare  as 
called  forth  warning  protests  from  Leife  Peake, 
whose  work  on  the  hay  seemed  to  demand  that 
he  should  be  in  close  proximity  to  the  cart,  arid 
to  the  side  of  the  cart  where  Virginia  happened 
to  be.  As  she  varied  her  position  with  bewil- 
dering frequency,  it  appeared  to  me,  when  I 
glanced  down,  that  young  Peake  was  suffering 
almost  as  much  from  anxiety  on  the  ground  as 
we  were  from  the  same  emotion  on  the  load. 
But  alarm  concerning  an  imbecile,  who  you  feel 
needs  corporeal  punishment,  and  alarm  in  regard 
to  the  woman  who  has  enthralled  your  fancy, 
are  two  widely  different  sensations,  entailing 
quite  different  results. 

Hitherto  I  had  had  no  idea  that  there  were 
such  violent  lurchings,  such  seasick  rockings, 
such  pitchings  to  and  fro,  incident  to  being  on  a 
157 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

load  of  hay.  The  very  breathing  of  the  horses 
seemed  to  vibrate  all  through  the  hay ;  and  when 
a  big  forkful  came  up  and  we  essayed  to  trample 
it  down  in  place,  the  almost  absolute  certainty 
that  it  would  slip  off,  taking  us  with  it,  was 
dreadful  to  bear.  All  the  time  there  was  a  kind 
of  oscillating  movement  far  down  below  us  that 
made  us  think  the  marsh  was  getting  ready  to 
reel  over  to  one  side.  There  was  no  surety 
about  anything ;  the  cart  rocked,  and  each  bunch 
of  hay  that  was  added  increased  the  strange 
motion  that  pervaded  the  heap.  I  would  have 
said  that  the  hay  was  alive,  and  would  presently 
heave  us  all  out  with  vicious  enjoyment  of  the 
catastrophe.  I  asked  myself  why  it  was  that 
men  whom  I  had  seen  riding  by  in  such  posi- 
tions always  presented  a  picture  of  dreamy  happi- 
ness. Could  it  be  that  use  and  custom  at  length 
removed  the  conviction  that  the  substance  upon 
which  they  reposed  was  not  a  live,  palpitating 
giant,  who  was  only  waiting  a  good  opportunity 
to  effect  a  wholesale  destruction  ?  No  matter 
where  I  was  on  the  load  there  always  seemed 
to  be  beneath  me  an  incipient,  sly  kind  of  a  move- 
ment that  I  was  sure  would  result  dreadfully  to 
158 


Stowing  Hay  with  Ozias 

one  or  more  of  us.  As  the  hay  accumulated, 
this  sensation,  this  all-absorbing  suspicion  of  mine, 
increased  also.  Every  moment  made  the  pro- 
spective fall  still  higher.  Added  to  my  own 
private,  personal  fears  as  to  my  ultimate  fate,  was 
always  the  uncertainty  concerning  Ozias,  who 
danced  about  over  each  increase  of  hay  like  a 
maniac  over  a  volcano.  I  think  he  saw  how 
anxious  we  were,  and  enjoyed  our  terrors.  He 
laughed  shrilly  every  time  a  big  bundle  of  hay 
came  tossing  up,  and  rushed  for  it  to  trample  it 
down.  He  had  the  appearance  of  being  at  an 
orgy  of  some  kind,  and  his  excitement  grew  as  the 
pile  increased.  With  every  moment  that  passed, 
my  resolution  never  again  to  be  on  a  load  of 
hay  with  Mar  Baker's  idjit,  nay,  with  any  idjit, 
increased  in  strength. 

"  Great  fun,  ain't  it  ? "  cheerily  exclaimed 
Rodge  Peake,  as  he  led  his  horses  toward  the 
next  row  of  cocks.  "  You  've  got  a  good  crop 
of  hay,  too.  Never  seen  no  better.  Look 
out,  there !  Don't  let  'Zias  come  so  near 
the  aidge." 

Yes,  for  the  twentieth  time  in  as  many  min- 
utes Ozias  was  too  near  the  "  aidge."  We  were 
'59 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

sitting  deep  down  in  what  we  hoped  was  the 
middle  of  the  load,  as  we  moved  on,  swaying 
and  heaving  and  bumping,  while  great  locks  of 
hay  rolled  off  on  the  ground  on  either  side  of  us, 
and  were  gathered  up  by  Leife,  who  now  walked 
behind,  and  thrust  back  at  the  first  opportunity. 

The  question  about  Ozias  had  by  this  time 
resolved  itself  in  my  mind  into  the  simple  inter- 
rogation, "  Was  I,  or  was  I  not,  willing  to 
sacrifice  myself  for  him?"  I  was  now  con- 
vinced that,  at  the  present  rate  of  progression  in 
danger  on  this  load,  either  my  friend,  or  Vir- 
ginia, or  Ozias,  or  I  would  lose  life  or  limb 
within  the  next  half-hour.  It  was  precisely  all 
we  could  do  to  preserve  our  own  safety,  but  we 
must  also  preserve  the  safety  of  Ozias. 

When  Mr.  Peake  shouted  that  our  charge 
was  too  near  the  "aidge,"  my  friend  and  I  had 
simultaneously  thrown  ourselves  out  at  full 
length,  and  had  succeeded  in  clutching  Ozias, 
and  in  pulling  him,  struggling,  back.  But  we 
were  not  always  able  to  do  this. 

I  called  to  Mr.  Peake  to  let  us  get  down,  and 
he  said  the  load  was  so  high  now  we  couldn't 
anyways  git  down,  unless  somebody  went  some- 
160 


Stowing  Hay  with  Ozias 

where  on  the  road  and  got  a  larder ;  he  meant 
ladder.  Did  we  think  that  was  worth  while  ? 
No,  we  returned,  it  was  not  worth  while.  We 
could  die  where  we  were.  We  were  sure  that, 
when  the  hay  was  taken  off  in  the  barn,  he 
would  find  three  dead  women,  and  one  trium- 
phant idiot.  He  thought  this  was  a  joke,  and 
laughed  heartily.  It  was  an  added  torture  to  us 
to  know  that,  no  matter  what  happened  now, 
we  could  not  get  down  without  a  ladder.  My 
prevailing  sensation  was  akin  to  that  which 
comes  to  one  who  dreams  of  falling  down  a 
precipice,  and  who  cannot  waken. 

A  dozen  more  hay-cocks  were  put  on.  We 
gave  up  trying  to  trample  the  hay  in  place,  and 
did  nothing  but  make  lurches  and  clutches  for 
Ozias,  some  of  them  effective  fortunately. 
How  far  off  and  solemn  sounded  Orlando's  bark 
from  the  ground !  He  was  getting  excited  as 
we  rose  higher  and  higher  in  the  air ;  I  think 
he  suspected  that  we  were  not  happy,  and  sym- 
pathized with  us.  Besides,  he  was,  perhaps, 
giving  vent  to  his  natural  antipathy  to  our 
companion. 

At  last,  after  an  unusually  arduous  rescue  of 
n  161 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

Ozias,  we  simultaneously  shouted  to  Rodge 
Peake.  Virginia  told  him  that  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  we  have  a  rope  several  yards  in 
length.  Something  in  her  voice  made  Leife 
Peake  start  instantly  on  a  run  up  to  the  barn.  I 
knew  that  he  was  alarmed,  because  he  did  not 
stop  to  ask  any  questions.  He  returned  at  the 
same  rapid  pace,  and  at  the  very  first  fling  the 
rope  fell  over  the  load  so  that  we  could  reach  it. 
We  did  as  we  had  read  is  the  custom  among 
mountain  travellers,  who  go  in  especially  dan- 
gerous places.  We  fastened  the  rope  about  the 
waist  of  each  person,  thinking  that,  if  we  women 
exercised  due  caution,  we  should  be  able  to 
resist  by  our  combined  weight  all  the  freaks  of 
Ozias,  who,  contrary  to  our  expectation,  seemed 
to  think  it  quite  a  funny  thing  to  have  the  cord 
secured  upon  him,  and  who  now,  strange  to  say, 
became  instantly  utterly  averse  to  moving  any- 
where but  in  the  very  centre  of  the  hay,  where 
there  was  no  danger  of  falling  off.  As  soon  as 
the  rope  was  upon  him  he  ceased  to  require  any 
such  safeguard.  But  we  did  not  dare  to  take  it 
off,  and,  thus  hampered,  we  did  all  we  could 
toward  fulfilling  the  duty  of  "stowing." 
162 


Stowing  Hay  with  Ozias 

When  at  last  we  rode  into  the  barn  we  real- 
ized that  we  were  dripping  with  perspiration ; 
that  we  had  known  nothing  whatever  of  the 
fragrant  odor  of  new-mown  hay ;  that  there  had 
not  been  a  particle  of  idyllic  joy  in  the  experi- 
ence. And  we  knew  that  every  pulse  was 
bounding  with  heat,  fatigue,  and  anxiety  ;  the 
sense  of  gratitude  when  we  really  reached  ground 
again  was  so  profound  that  it  swallowed  up  every 
other  emotion.  Orlando  greeted  us  as  if  after  a 
month's  absence,  and  we  responded  as  fervently. 
Thankfully  we  heard  Mar  Baker's  shrill  voice 
from  the  road  calling  to  her  son,  who  reluctantly 
obeyed,  after  having  been  disunited  from  the 
bond  which  had  bound  him  to  us  for  an  un- 
happy space  of  time.  It  was  dreadful  to  us  to 
see  that  Ozias  did  not  want  to  have  the  rope 
unfastened ;  dreadful  to  see  that  he  wanted  to 
remain  tied  to  us.  This  union  seemed  funny  to 
him  and  provocative  of  great  laughter  on  his 
part. 

We  asked  Miss  Vance  to  return  with  us  and 

help  restore  herself  with  a  cup  of  cold  tea.     By 

cold   tea   we  meant  that  it   was  not  hot,   only 

lukewarm  from  standing  in  a  pitcher  which  had 

163 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

no  ice  in  it  and  was  near  none.  There  are 
advantages  in  a  shanty  life,  but  cold  beverages 
are  not  among  them.  We  had  found  that  tea 
of  nearly  blood  heat  was  easier  to  drink  than 
plain  water  of  the  same  temperature.  It  was  to 
this  exhilarating  tipple  that  we  invited  the  girl. 

When  we  wearily  walked  back  over  the  dike 
to  the  shanty  we  talked  sadly.  We  were  glad 
the  hay  was  in,  but  were  sorry  the  ideal  we  had 
always  cherished  concerning  riding  on  the  load 
was  hopelessly  shattered.  It  is  sorrowful  to 
have  illusions  vanish. 

We  all  sat  on  the  shady  side  and  drank  tea, 
and  fanned  ourselves  and  looked  off  over  the 
dike. 

Suddenly  there  seemed  a  greater  flurry  than 
usual  among  the  blackbirds.  Great,  white- 
winged  fowl  rose  from  toward  the  sea,  and 
circled  swiftly.  The  sun  no  longer  shone  and 
the  east  wind  no  longer  blew.  Without  the 
least  warning  it  had  come  on  "  muggy"  again. 
There  was  a  mutter  of  thunder  in  the  west,  a 
quick,  almost  pungent  sweetness  in  the  air. 

Virginia  rose  and  put  on  her  hat.  As  she 
did  so,  Leife  Peake  came  round  from  the  barn. 
164 


Stowing  Hay  with  Ozias 

With  the  interest  of  two  women  who  are 
only  spectators,  we  watched  the  faces  of  these 
two. 

Peake,  without  being  silly  at  all,  to  an  ob- 
server, was  very  evidently  a  man  in  love,  and 
with  the  inevitable  but  now  only  partial  fatuity 
of  a  man  in  love,  he  was  confident  that  no  one 
suspected  the  fact.  The  owner  of  that  kind  of 
a  chin  was  not  going  to  make  a  fool  of  himself. 
He  could  still  shut  his  mouth  firmly,  and  had 
not  entirely  lost  control  of  his  eyes. 

He  said  he  was  afraid  Virginia  had  not  noticed 
that  a  tempest  was  threatening.  If  they  started 
now  they  could  get  home  across  lots  before  it 
rained.  They  went  away  immediately.  It  did 
not  seem  to  us  that  they  moved  as  rapidly  as 
was  natural  for  people  who  were  obliged  to 
cross  lots  to  shorten  the  distance.  But  it  was 
not  the  girl's  way  to  hasten.  And  as  for  him, 
why  should  one  who  had  an  opportunity  of 
meeting  her  glance,  now  peculiarly  soft,  try  to 
abridge  those  moments,  even  though  a  thunder- 
storm should  burst  too  soon? 

But  the  shower  did  not  come  at  all.  It 
passed  over  to  the  south  and  left  the  afternoon 
165 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

sky  clear  and  warm.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  fine 
day  for  "  him  and  her"  to  be  strolling  forget- 
fully through  pastures  where  ferns  and  penny- 
royal sent  up  a  country  fragrance  as  slow  feet 
brushed  among  them. 

Did  these  two  chance  to  turn  from  those 
uplands  and  look  off  to  the  ocean  that  undulated 
in  blue  sheen  under  the  blue  heaven  ? 

Mr.  Peake  called  at  the  shanty  an  hour  later 
to  say  that  things  were  all  right  up  to  the  barn, 
and  he  hoped  we  'd  had  a  good  time  on  the  cart. 
Though  the  hay  was  in  we  mustn't  begin  to 
think  of  goin'.  He  said  't  wa'n't  fair  to  Ma'sh- 
field  to  leave  'fore  we  'd  had  a  coot  stew.  Coots 
'd  be  plenty  in  a  week  or  two,  and  he  'd  engage 
to  shoot  a  couple  for  us,  'n'  his  wife  would  tell 
us  how  to  make  a  stew.  Folks  might  say  what 
they  pleased,  but  there  wa'  n't  nothin'  like  a  coot 
stew  with  dumplin's. 


1 66 


XIII 

THE  REBELLION  OF  JULY'S  YOUNG 

MAN 

r  I AHERE  has  been  somewhat  of  a  mental 
JL  flatness  to  depress  us  since  the  hay  was 
in.  The  terrestrial  flatness  upon  which  we  have 
been  living  for  so  long  has  ceased,  we  think,  to 
affect  us.  To  dwell  upon  dike  lands  seems  by 
this  time  a  natural  thing  to  do,  but  we  have  not 
now  the  stimulant  furnished  by  the  interest  and 
the  irritation  of  cutting  and  making  hay  by  proxy. 
And  we  have  not  seen  Miss  Vance  for  some 
days. 

Her  absence  has  revealed  quite  clearly  how 
much  she  has  interested  us.  We  talk  her  over 
a  great  deal.  We  say  that  we  are  afraid  that 
Leife  Peake  is  going  to  win  her  too  easily.  We 
believe  that  a  man  ought  to  have  a  hard  fight  to 
get  the  woman  he  loves,  particularly  when  she 
is  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Peake' s  niece.  But  it 
167 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

is  in  stories,  not  often  in  real  life,  that  a  man 
has  to  struggle  to  secure  his  choice.  Girls 
are  too  much  like  the  ripe  peach  —  or  is  it 
plum  ?  —  which  drops  almost  before  the  hand 
is  extended. 

We  have  read  all  our  novels.  We  have  re- 
covered from  riding  on  the  load  of  hay,  so  far  as 
we  may  recover  from  such  an  experience.  We 
have  "  used  our  jedgment"  in  the  perfectly  suc- 
cessful preparation  of  bumonge  for  the  young 
man  at  Mr.  Grant's,  and  have  been  rewarded  by 
being  told  that  he  remarked  that  he  could  really 
eat  the  stuff. 

This  person  has  been  gaining  rapidly  both  in 
strength  and  ferocity,  if  we  may  trust  the  reports 
his  nurse  circulates  concerning  him. 

She  also  says  that  Virginy  has  ben  ter  see  him 
twice  to  her  certain  knowledge,  and  she  can' t  tell 
how  many  times  that  she  don't  know.  She 
heard  him  er  beggin'  'n'  er  pleadin'  to  her  to 
promise  to  come  every  day. 

"You'd  think  his  life  hung  on  her  comin', 

when  there  I  be  constant,"  said  July,  aggrievedly, 

"  ter  wait  upon  him  if  he  but  jest  winks  his  eye. 

I  s'pose  he  '11  git  over  his  tantrums  ter  see  her 

168 


Rebellion  of  July's  Young  Man 

when  he  c'n  git  out  for  himself.  They  mostly 
does." 

We  have  fulfilled  a  long  cherished  intention 
and  taken  Ozias  to  the  Brant,  and  have  paid  for 
all  the  ice-cream  he  could  eat  at  a  single  sitting, 
learning  at  that  time  that  a  wholesale  purchase 
of  the  delicacy  would  have  been  far  better  for  our 
purpose,  for  he  ate  until  he  began  to  be  blue 
about  the  mouth,  which  we  thought  was  a 
symptom  that  he  also  was  beginning  to  freeze. 
His  tongue  was  so  nearly  congealed  on  the  way 
home,  that  it  was  only  just  before  we  came  to 
the  pea-green  house  where  he  resides  that  he 
was  able  to  articulate  enough  to  say  that  he 
wished  he  had  tried  a  little  of  the  vanilla  flavor, 
though  p'raps  it  was  jest  as  well  to  stick  to 
lemon. 

His  mother  was  standing  at  the  gate  watching 
for  us  anxiously.  She  had  given  her  permission, 
but  she  was  naturally  uneasy  until  our  return. 
She  told  us  as  we  slowly  came  nearer  that  she 
more  than  half  thought  that  she  should  never 
see  'Zias  alive  again,  but  she  s'posed  the  Lord 
had  preserved  him.  We  said  that,  if  he  should 
live  for  the  next  twelve  hours,  we  thought  she 
169 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

might  consider  him  as  entirely  inoculated,  or 
insured,  as  regarded  ice-cream.  Ozias  leaned 
against  the  house  wall  with  such  a  tired  air  that 
Mrs.  Baker  told  him  to  go  right  on  to  the  lounge 
and  rest  himself,  and  he  obeyed  her  without  a 
murmur.  We  sat  down  on  the  doorstep,  and  so 
impressed  had  we  been  by  witnessing  the  idiot's 
prowess,  that  we  had  a  vicarious  sense  of  having 
ourselves  over-eaten  upon  lemon  ice-cream,  and 
felt  that  we  should  need  no  more  food  for  a 
long  time. 

Mar  Baker  asked  us  with  great  interest  how 
much  our  hay  was  going  to  cost  us,  and  we  were 
glad  to  be  able  to  say  that  we  did  not  know  yet 
what  Mr.  Peake's  bill  was.  Then  she  said  with 
a  sigh  that  women  wa'n't  fit  to  tend  to  them 
things,  but  ended  more  cheerfully  with  the 
remark  that  she  guessed  we  were  used  to  it, 
never  havin'  had  no  man,  and  she  had  heard 
that  folks  could  even  git  used  to  goin'  on  one 
leg,  or  no  legs  at  all,  if  it  came  to  that. 

Neither  of  us  seemed  to  be  able  to  think  of 
any  response  to  make  to  this  remark,  and  a  con- 
strained silence  fell  upon  us,  presently  broken 
by  the  loud  snores  of  Ozias  who  had  fallen 
170 


Rebellion  of  July's  Young  Man 

asleep  on  the  lounge  the  other  side  of  the  open 
window. 

Finally  Mrs.  Baker  said  that  now  our  hay  was 
in  she  reckoned  we  should  be  thinkin'  of  goin'. 

But  no,  we  were  not  going,  we  said,  until  we 
had  seen  something  of  the  beauties  of  early  fall 
here  by  the  sea  and  had  had  a  coot  stew.  At 
mention  of  a  coot  stew  the  small  woman  visibly 
brightened,  and  remarked  that  she  was  not  one 
who  thought  too  much  of  her  victuals,  but  she 
would  say  she  was  glad  when  coots  come,  though 
'  Zias  was  apt  to  over-eat  himself.  As  she  said  the 
last  words  she  put  her  hand  up  to  shade  her  eyes 
while  she  gazed  up  the  white,  dusty  road.  The 
road  was  very  hot  as  well  as  dusty.  It  had  been 
a  "dry  time  "  for  the  last  few  weeks,  and  there 
was  a  kind  of  oppressive  gloom  over  this  part  of 
the  world,  so  parched  and  sere  looked  every- 
thing. It  was  only  when  sitting  on  the  beach 
that  one  felt  that  there  was  water  anywhere. 

"  Mebbe  you  know  who  that  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Baker  at  last,  "but  I  can't  make  it  out,  near- 
sighted's  I  be." 

What  we  saw  seemed  to  be  a  form,  whether 
of  man  or  woman  we  could  not  tell, .  coming 
171 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

toward  us  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  The 
scorching  southerly  wind  kept  blowing  up  clouds 
of  dust  which  obscured  the  person  approaching. 
A  long-flowered  gown  covered  the  figure  entirely 
and  it  was  coming  on  with  the  aid  of  crutches. 

In  a  moment  we  all  rose  to  our  feet,  and  Mar 
Baker  cried  out,  "  The  land's  sake!  If  that  ain't 
July  Burns's  young  man  !  " 

Yes,  it  was  July's  patient,  and  he  was  now 
close  upon  us.  He  did  not  notice  us  in  the 
least  until  he  had  seated  himself  upon  the 
door-step,  which  we,  in  our  amazement,  had 
vacated.  Then  he  drew  his  gorgeous  dressing- 
gown  around  him,  looked  at  us  and  said  he 
hoped  he  didn't  intrude,  but  he  was  bound  to 
get  out  of  that  cursed  stuffy  little  room  for  a  few 
minutes.  He  leaned  back  and  panted  from  his 
exertions.  He  was  very  thin  and  white,  but  he 
looked  like  a  man  who  is  getting  well,  and  who 
was  irritable  to  the  verge  of  desperation.  As 
he  gazed  about  him  it  almost  seemed  as  if  he 
wished  to  strike  out,  right  and  left,  with  one 
of  his  crutches,  and  thus  relieve  himself  of  the 
wrath  and  resentment  which  were  boiling  with- 
in him. 

172 


Rebellion  of  July's  Young  Man 

Mar  Baker  seemed  awe-struck  at  sight  of  him. 
She  ventured  to  express  the  hope  that  his  ribs 
were  all  right,  whereupon  he  snarled  the  reply 
that  he  didn't  believe  there  had  ever  been  any- 
thing the  matter  with  his  ribs.  He  would  have 
been  well  long  ago  if  it  had  not  been  for  that 
infernal  doctor  and  that  infernal  nurse,  curse 
them  both !  Here  he  pulled  himself  up  and 
said,  looking  at  us,  that  we  really  must  pardon 
him,  but  all  the  comfort  he  had  was  in  cursing 
and  swearing.  My  friend  said  quietly  that  she 
should  judge  that  he  must  have  been  rather  com- 
fortable then.  The  young  man's  pale  face  red- 
dened until,  glancing  down  the  road  he  had  just 
traversed,  an  expression  of  fury  banished  all  other 
expressions. 

We  followed  his  glance  and  saw  July  Burns 
coming  like  one  who  is  in  pursuit,  but  who  can 
make  very  little  progress  on  account  of  a  too 
great  load  of  flesh.  Mr.  Ross,  after  that  first 
look,  leaned  his  head  back  and  closed  his  eyes, 
as  in  despairing  surrender. 

July  came  up  puffing.  She  was  so  breath- 
less that  she  could  not  speak.  Meanwhile  her 
charge  kept  his  eyes  persistently  shut,  as  though, 
173 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

if  they  were  opened,   they   would  see  a   sight 
they  could  not  endure. 

It  was  an  interesting  tableau  now  before  us, 
and  one  at  which  we  looked  with  a  mixture  of 
pity  and  interest.  We  only  needed  Ozias  to 
complete  the  figures.  He,  however,  slumbered 
on  audibly  within  the  house. 

As  soon  as  she  could  command  her  voice, 
Mrs.  Burns,  with  her  hands  on  her  hips,  said 
huskily,  "  Wall !  I  never !  I  declare,  I  never 
did!" 

The  escaped  patient  winced  and  shrunk  as  he 
heard  her,  but  he  did  not  open  his  eyes. 

"  I  wonder,"  went  on  July,  "  I  wonder  if 
folks  that  go  gallivantin'  like  this  here,  ever  ex- 
pect broken  bones  to  knit !  They  earn' t  knit ; 
't  aint  possible  !  What  '11  the  doctor  say  ? " 

The  invalid,  still  with  closed  eyes,  vibrated 
through  his  thin  frame.  I  heard  him  mutter 
that  the  doctor  might  go  to  the  devil,  and  the 
nurse  too. 

"How's  he  goin'  to  be  got. back?"  went 
on  July.  "  He  '11  have  a  relupse,  sure  's  fate. 
I  wish  one  of  you  folks,"  looking  at  us,  "  would 
go  right  over  to  Mr.  Kendall's  and  git  him  to 


Rebellion  of  July's  Young  Man 

harness  inter  his  democrat,  and  put  a  bed  on  it, 
'n'  come  here's  quick's  ever  he  can.  Tell 
him  it's  a  case  of  sickness." 

Much  to  our  surprise,  July's  patient  now 
opened  his  eyes,  but  he  kept  them  carefully 
fixed  on  us.  He  spoke  with  surprising  energy. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  beg  you  to  go  to  Mr. 
Kendall's  for  his  democrat,  whatever  that  is. 
Tell  him  to  come  confounded  quick,  too  !  " 

Mrs.  Burns  looked  exultantly  at  us  as  if  she 
said,  "  See,  how  he  is  conquered  !  " 

But  there  was  a  gleam  in  the  man's  glance 
that  made  us  suspicious.  There  was  also  even 
greater  pallor,  and  a  lock  as  if  he  were  begin- 
ning to  suffer  greatly. 

We  responded  to  this  request  by  hastening 
along  over  the  road  toward  Mr.  Kendall's, 
which  lay  a  hot  quarter  of  a  mile  distant. 

Mr.  Kendall  had  to  be  called  in  from  a  field 
where  he  was  digging  early  potatoes.  And  he 
insisted  upon  asking  a  good  many  questions  be- 
fore he  would  really  begin  to  harness.  But  he 
did  harness  and  we  rode  back  to  Mar  Baker's 
with  him,  sitting  on  the  mattress  he  had  placed 
in  the  wagon  after  having  removed  the  seats. 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

We  found  that  Mrs.  Baker  had  put  a  pillow 
to  the  stranger's  back,  and  a  footstool  under  his 
leg.  He  was  looking  badly  spent  with  fatigue 
and  pain. 

July  came  bustling  forward  to  help,  and  the 
patient  immediately  closed  his  eyes  again.  More 
pillows  were  brought  and  arranged.  Mr.  Ken- 
dall, being  a  big,  strong  man,  lifted  the  now 
helpless  fellow  into  the  carriage.  Having  seen 
him  well  arranged,  July  turned  to  go  back  to 
Mr.  Grant's  to  await  the  coming  of  her  charge. 

Now  the  closed  eyes  were  opened  again,  and 
the  man  motioned  to  Mr.  Kendall,  with  quite 
a  show  of  animation,  so  that  I  hardly  knew 
whether  he  had  been  feigning  a  trifle  or  not. 

"Don't  take  me  back,"  he  said,  vehe- 
mently, "I  won't  go!  If  you  take  me  there, 
I'll  kill  her!  She's  so  fat!  Take  me  to  the 
best  hotel  at  the  Brant.  Ten  dollars  if  you 
will.  I  shall  be  well  in  a  week  if  I  can  get 
away  from  her !  She 's  so  fat !  Go  ahead ! 
I'll  make  it  fifteen  dollars." 

Mr.  Kendall  looked  involuntarily  at  us  as  if 
for  advice.  Now  I  recall  the  moment  I  am 
almost  sure  that  I  bent  my  head  as  if  counselling 
176 


Rebellion  of  July's  Young  Man 

him  to  go.  He  laughed  and  started  his  horse 
briskly  over  toward  the  Brant. 

Now  Brant  Rock  village  was  in  a  different 
direction  from  that  taken  by  Mrs.  Burns,  and 
presently  that  person  perceived  that  the  sound 
of  wheels  was  receding  instead  of  approaching. 
She  turned  round,  and,  standing  still,  she  en- 
deavored, by  flourishing  her  arms  in  strange 
signals,  to  make  Mr.  Kendall  know  he  was 
going  the  wrong  way.  But,  as  Mr.  Kendall's 
back  was  turned  toward  her,  her  gesticulations 
had  no  effect.  Then  she  began  running  toward 
us,  if  that  kind  of  propelling  motion  may  be 
called  running.  She  was  purple  and  breathless 
when  she  came  near.  Finally,  after  two  or 
three  attempts,  she  succeeded  in  asking  furiously, 

"  Don't  John  Kendall  know  that  ain't  the  way 
to  Mr.  Grant's  ?  Don't  he  know  nothin'  ?  " 

It  was  Mar  Baker  who  spoke,  and  she  tried  to 
be  soothing. 

"  'T  aint  well  for  you  to  run,  July.  You  're 
too  fleshy,  don't  ye  know  ye  be  ?  Lemme  git 
you  a  glass  of  water." 

Inability  to  go  on  made  July  lean  against  the 
fence.  When  Mrs.  Baker  came  out  with  a 
12  177 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

pink  mug  filled  with  water,  Mrs.  Burns  was 
able  to  move  it  away  scornfully,  and  to  say,  — 

"You  ain't  no  nuss,  Mar  Baker,  or  you 
would  n't  give  cold  water  to  anybody  's  hot 's 
I  be." 

Nevertheless,  she  drank  from  the  pink  mug, 
and  then  asked  with  asperity  if  we  knew  what 
John  Kendall  thought  he  was  a-doin'. 

I  took  it  upon  myself  to  reply  that  the  in- 
valid had  requested  to  be  taken  to  a  hotel,  and 
I  suspected  Mr.  Kendall  was  taking  him  to  the 
Brant. 

It  was  very  wicked  in  my  friend  to  add  that 
she  believed  the  young  man  would  immediately 
have  a  trained  nurse. 

Hearing  this,  Mrs.  Burns  threw  up  her  head 
and  rolled  her  eyes. 

"Then  I  wash  my  hands  of  him,"  she  cried 
out.  "He'll  have  a  relupse,  'n'  if  a  trained 
nuss  can  bring  him  out  of  a  relupse,  she 's  wel- 
come to  do  it." 


178 


XIV 

A   PIECE   OF   MUSIC 

DURING  the  week  which  followed  the  re- 
volt and  escape  of  July's  charge,  his  fate, 
so  far  as  we  were  concerned,  was  shrouded  in 
mystery.  We  had  no  opportunity  to  make 
inquiries  as  to  his  welfare  from  any  one,  save 
Mrs.  Burns  herself,  and  we  could  not  consider 
her  an  unprejudiced  person.  She  says  "he  has 
been  swallered  up,  and  she  don't  know  nothin' 
'bout  him."  Now,  to  say  a  man  has  been 
"swallered  up"  is  not  to  speak  definitely,  but 
only  to  bring  to  the  mind  of  the  listener  vague 
memories  of  Jonah,  and  of  "proud  Korah's 
troup,"  all  of  whom  were  swallowed,  but  under 
widely  different  circumstances.  July  always 
added  that  she  had  washed  her  hands  of  him, 
and  that  if  he  had  a  relapse  she  should  always 
be  thankful  that  she  was  not  responsible.  She 
affected  an  air  of  relief  and  gratitude  that  she 
was  no  longer  his  nurse.  She  said  that  he  wore 
179 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

upon  her  more  than  any  person  she  had  ever 
waited  on.  For  some  reason  she  still  lingered 
at  Mrs.  Grant's.  She  said  she  remained  to 
"  help  Miss  Grant  put  her  house  to  rights,  for 
it  was  all  tore  up,  'n'  she  hoped  that  young  man 
would  make  it  right  with  them,  even  if  he  never 
did  with  her." 

She  sometimes  wonders,  with  a  very  exasper- 
ated expression  of  countenance,  what  that  Vir- 
giny  Vance  thinks  of  the  feller  now.  She 
gives  it  to  be  understood  that  the  girl  was  prob- 
ably reckoning  upon  ketchin'  him.  Mrs.  Burns 
supposes  he  has  "  oceans  of  money,  'n'  any 
gal  'd  be  tickled  to  death  ter  git  him."  She  is 
not  at  all  sanguine  that  Miss  Vance  will  be  able 
to  ketch  him,  but  generously  says  she  is  wel- 
come to  try. 

During  these  days  Mrs.  Burns  was  often  seen 
on  the  way  to  Mrs.  Bakei's  or  to  our  shanty. 
She  would  sit  for  hours  at  a  time  in  our  most 
comfortable  chair,  placed  in  the  coolest  spot  in 
the  shade,  and  meditate,  and  talk.  She  said  she 
was  trying  to  rest  herself  after  the  strain  there 
had  been  upon  her.  She  never  was  with  us 
ten  minutes  that  she  did  not  tell  us  that  she  had 
1 80 


A  Piece  of  Music 

washed  her  hands  of  her  former  patient.  She 
related  several  times  the  history  of  her  acquaint- 
ance with  Joel  Burns,  before  and  after  marriage, 
and  it  was  always  just  as  I  have  written  it  down 
in  a  former  chapter.  We  became  so  familiar 
with  it  that  we  frequently  recited  portions  of 
it  to  each  other  when  she  was  not  present. 
We  knew  exactly  at  what  time  Joel  brought  his 
mother  over,  and  his  sister  that  married  a  Brett, 
and  about  his  horse  trades.  Indeed,  at  this  time 
in  our  lives  we  felt  that  there  was  not  room  in 
our  minds  for  any  thoughts  not  connected  with 
Joel  Burns  and  his  widow. 

We  felt  more  keenly  than  ever  for  the  poor 
fellow  who  had  been  obliged  to  lie  still  that  his 
bones  might  knit,  and  so  could  not  escape  this 
tale,  no  matter  how  many  times  it  was  repeated. 
We  did  not  wonder  he  swore.  We  thought  it 
likely  that  this  profanity,  however  reprehensible 
it  might  be  in  itself,  furnished  an  outlet  which 
saved  his  life. 

Mrs.  Burns  sung  to  us  many  times  a  "  piece 

of  music  "  —  that  is  what  she  called  it  —  which 

Joel  was  accustomed  to  sing  in  the  days   of  his 

courtship.      The  tune  was  not  in  the  least  com- 

181 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

plicated,  and  my  friend  soon  learned  it ;  but  I, 
not  being  able  to  sing  anything,  could  only 
master  the  words,  and  these  I  learned  so  effectu- 
ally that  I  repeated  them  mentally,  sleeping  or 
waking,  and  had  a  strong  fear  that  they  would 
henceforth  flavor  everything  I  should  ever  read 
or  hear.  I  will  give  a  few  verses,  only  a  few, 
for  there  would  hardly  be  space  enough  any- 
where for  them  all.  I  was  always  uncertain  as 
to  the  sequence  in  which  they  came,  for  they 
were  sung  "just  as  it  happened,"  without 
regard  to  the  unities  :  — 

"  Tell  her  to  buy  me  a  yard  of  cloth, 
For  to  make  me  a  shirt  thereof ; 
Tell  her  to  make  it  up  with  one  stitch, 
Or  a  horse-hair,  I  don't  care  which, 
Then  she  shall  be  a  true  lover  of  mine,   true 
lover  of  mine. 

"  A  parcel  of  sage,  rosemary  and  thyme  ; 
Tell  her  to  wash  it  out  in  a  dry  well 
In  which  never  a  drop  of  water  there  fell  ; 
Tell  her  to  hang  it  out  on  a  sharp  thorn 
Which  never  bore  a  bud  since  Adam  was  born, 
And  then  she  shall  be  a  true  lover  of  mine, 
true  lover  of  mine." 
182 


A  Piece  of  Music 

There  were  a  great  many  lines  in  which  he 
tells  her  of  impossible  things  which  she  must  do 
if  she  aspired  to  be  a  true  lover  of  his,  until  the 
heart  of  the  listener  began  to  bleed  for  the  poor 
girl,  when  suddenly  the  thing  is  reversed,  and 
we  are  rejoiced  to  hear  that  it  is  she  who  is 
singing  in  this  way  :  — 

"  Tell  him  to  buy  me  an  acre  of  land, 
'Twixt  the  sea  and  the  sea-sand  ; 
Tell  him  to  plow  it  up  with  a  cockle's  horn 
And  sow  it  all  over  with  one  pepper-corn, 
And  then  he  shall  be    a  true  lover  of  mine, 
true  lover  of  mine. 

"  Tell  him  to  reap  it  before  it  grew, 
And  reap  it  down  with  the  sole  of  his  shoe  ; 
Tell  him  to  thresh  it  out  with  a  goose  quill, 
And  to  winnow  it  in  an  egg  shell  ; 
And  then  he  shall  be  a  true  lover  of  mine, 
true  lover  of  mine." 

After  a  while  I  noticed  that,  in  whatever 
order  the  verses  happened  to  be  sung,  this  was 
always  the  last  one  :  — 

"  Kind  sir,  are  you  bound  unto  Cape  Ann  ? 
My  service  to  that  same  young  man, 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

For  once  he  was  a  true  lover  of  mine,  true  lover 

of  mine, 
A  parcel  of  sage,  rosemary,  and  thyme." 

It  was  gratifying  to  us  to  be  able  to  conclude 
that  the  feminine  speaker  in  this  piece  of  music 
had  the  last  word,  and  we  thought  that  the  sar- 
casm on  her  part  was  even  more  fine  and  biting 
than  that  on  his  part.  Altogether,  we  had  never 
heard  the  like,  and  were  greatly  impressed. 
Mrs.  Burns  sang  it  to  us  so  many  times  within 
a  few  days  that  we  used  to  wonder  if  she  had 
sung  it  to  her  patient,  and  if  the  composition 
had  had  anything  to  do  with  his  escape. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Mr.  Kendall  met  us  on 
the  road  and  drew  in  his  horse  to  say  that  p'raps 
we  'd  like  to  know  about  that  young  feller  that 
had  run  away.  We  eagerly  said  we  should  like 
to  know,  and  were  informed  that  he  was  to  the 
Brant,  and  was  doing  prime ;  would  probably 
be  leavin'  in  a  fortnight  or  less.  That  he 
hadn't  no  nuss  of  any  kind,  and  hadn't  had 
since  he  left  Mrs.  Grant's.  Furthermore  he 
had  put  a  sum  of  money  into  his,  Mr.  Kendall's 
hands,  with  which  to  pay  the  Grants  and  July, 
184 


A  Piece  of  Music 

and  the  doctor.  Then  Mr.  Kendall  drove  on 
a  few  yards ;  but  he  pulled  in  his  horse  and 
looked  back  to  tell  us  that  the  feller  said  he  'd 
ruther  be  hung  than  to  see  his  nuss  again.  "  He 
says  she's  so  fat ;  'n'  he  says"  —  here  the 
speaker  laughed  so  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  he  continued  —  "  'n'  he  says  he 's  afraid  he 
never  shall  live  long  'nough  to  forgit  all  'bout 
Joel  Burns' s  courtship  'n'  marriage,  'n'  the 
sister  that  married  a  Brett." 

Here  Mr.  Kendall's  horse  started  and  Mr. 
Kendall  himself  shook  so  on  the  seat  that  he 
looked  as  if  he  would  fall  off. 

When  we  reached  our  shanty  there  was  Mrs. 
Burns  sitting  in  the  shade,  fanning  herself  and 
humming  "a  parcel  of  sage."  We  were  be- 
ginning to  wonder  what  we  had  done  to  deserve 
so  much  of  July  Burns,  and  we  were  so  far  from 
glad  to  see  her  just  now  that  I  am  afraid  we  had 
a  pleasure  in  telling  her  what  we  had  just  heard. 
But  she  took  the  news  very  calmly,  and  did  not 
apparently  resent  it  when  I  said  that  we  all 
ought  to  be  thankful  that  her  patient  had  not 
been  swallowed  up  as  she  had  reported.  She 
said  that,  "  leastways,  he  might  as  well  have 
185 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

ben  swallered  up,"  and  did  not  explain  when 
we  asked  what  she  meant  by  that.  She  ac- 
knowledged that  she  had  seen  Mr.  Kendall  and 
had  the  money.  She  was  willing  to  own  that 
the  feller  hadn't  been  stingy.  She  was  alto- 
gether so  mollified  that  we  inferred  that  she  had 
been  well  paid.  She  left  the  topic  as  soon  as 
possible  and  remarked  that  folks  said  that  Rodge 
Peake's  wife  was  a  failin',  she  ain't  been  well 
sence  she  put  her  shoulder  out  early  in  the 
spring,  but  she  ain't  one  to  make  no  fuss  about 
herself.  "I  should  n't  be  one  mite  supprised  if 
she  was  a-failin'."  The  woman  added  that  she 
didn't  s'pose  Virginy  knew  how  sick  her  aunt 
was,  for  gals  had  n't  much  sense  any  way. 
Virginia 'd  ben  visitin'  a  friend  out  to  Neponset 
for  a  week,  'n'  when  she  was  to  home  likely  's 
not  she  'n'  Leife  was  so  much  taken  up  er 
courtin'  they  didn't  notice  Miss  Peake.  She 
thought  probable  Virginy  was  er  fixin'  by  this 
time. 

When    we   asked    her    what    she    meant    by 
"fixin',"  it  was   explained   that  no  gal    as  re- 
spected herself  would  think   of  gittin'  married 
'thout  jest  so  much  time  spent  in  makin'  table- 
186 


A  Piece  of  Music 

cloths,  towels,  'n'  such,  and  to  be  employed  in 
this  work  with  marriage  in  prospect,  was  to  be 
fixin' . 

I  hardly  think  Mrs.  Burns  believed  the  mar- 
riage tie  could  be  legally  binding  upon  a  woman 
who  had  not  previously  gone  through  this 
process.  We  learned  later  that  it  is  customary 
to  announce  an  engagement  by  simply  saying 
that  "  so  and  so  is  er  fixin'." 

July  went  on  to  give  minute  particulars  as  to 
the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Peake  put  her  shoulder 
out,  and  how  she  was  there  three  weeks  to  take 
care  of  her.  "She  put  it  out,"  said  July,  as  if 
speaking  of  a  candle  flame,  "  a-tryin'  to  help 
Rodge  in  one  of  his  nerve  'tacks.  You  mark 
my  words,  they  '11  be  the  death  of  that  woman. 
When  you  have  a  husband  that  is  subject  to 
nerve  'tacks,  I  tell  you  it  don't  lengthen  your 
days.  Joel  was  jest  what  he  was,  but  he  didn't 
drink,  thank  the  Lord!" 

Every  time  July  mentioned  Joel  we  were 
afraid  that  she  would  go  on  with  the  history 
which  we  had  heard  so  many  times,  and  we 
used  to  try  frantically  to  change  the  subject. 
We  were  now  sure,  from  a  certain  look  which 
187 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

came  to  her  face,  when  she  was  going  to  begin. 
She  had  never  yet  told  the  tale  in  our  hearing 
without  that  preliminary  look,  and  we  saw  it  on 
her  face  now.  I  do  not  know  how  it  was  with 
my  friend,  but  I  had  a  wild  impulse  to  turn  and 
run  over  the  dike.  I  had  made  two  or  three 
steps  away  from  the  shanty  when  I  saw  ap- 
proaching over  the  grass  an  open  wagon  con- 
taining a  man  and  a  woman.  In  another 
moment  I  knew  that  they  were  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Rodge  Peake. 

It  seemed  to  us  a  providential  thing  that  Mrs. 
Burns  chose  to  depart  after  having  stopped  long 
enough  to  hear  Mr.  Peake  say  jovially  that  here 
he  was,  and  he  had  brought  his  wife  and  his 
bill  for  hay-making. 

I  had  always  liked  Mr.  Peake,  and  now  my 
heart  quite  warmed  to  him  as  I  saw  with  what 
tenderness  he  lifted  his  companion  down  from 
the  awkward  wagon,  and  gave  her  his  arm  as 
she  walked  up  to  the  chair  July  had  vacated. 

Mrs.    Peake   looked   more  gentle,   more  thin 

and  white  than  ever,  and  her  voice  was  slower, 

more  piercing  in  its  pathos  as  she  drawled  her 

reply  to   our  inquiries  about  her   health.     She 

1 88 


A  Piece  of  Music 

said  that  Rodge  was  trying  to  make  out  she  was 
sick,  but  she  guessed  she  should  be  all  right 
when  the  bracing  weather  come.  The  trouble 
was  she  kept  taking  a  bit  of  a  cold  now  and  then, 
and  somehow  she  could  n't  quite  get  rid  of  her 
cough. 

Rodge  stood  looking  at  her  with  open  anxiety 
upon  his  face.  When  she  ceased  speaking  he 
glanced  at  us  and  said,  with  a  great  show  of 
cheerfulness  and  confidence,  that  she  'd  be  sure 
to  be  all  right  when  the  bracing  weather  come. 
These  dog  days  were  enough  to  pull  anybody 
down.  Oh,  she'd  be  all  right. 

"That's  what  I  tell  him,"  said  Mrs.  Peake 
softly,  falling  back  in  her  chair,  and  breathing 
quickly. 

It  appeared  difficult  for  Mr.  Peake  to  keep  his 
eyes  from  his  wife's  face,  and  when  he  asked 
one  of  us  to  go  to  the  barn  with  him,  and  I 
went,  he  leaned  up  against  the  barn  door  and 
said  tremulously  that  he  vowed  he  could  n't 
help  being  anxious,  and  he  felt  ten  thousand 
times  worse  because  she  was  so  kind  of  cheerful 
'n'  hopeful,  and  what  did  I  really  think  of  her 
looks  ? 

189 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

I  hesitated  and  finally  said  that  she  seemed 
frail. 

"You  don't  think  it's  nothin'  worse  'n'  that, 
do  you  ? "  he  inquired,  eagerly.  "You  know 
frail  folks  sometimes  have  a  mighty  tough  streak 
in  'em." 

I  assented.      He  tried  visibly  to  cheer  up. 

He  guessed  Marcia  'd  feel  better  when  Vir- 
giny  come  back.  Virginy  was  a  prime  one  to 
have  round  in  the  house.  But  when  he  ex- 
plained that  he  had  no  idea  his  wife  was  so 
weak,  till  she  come  to  try  to  git  into  the  wagon, 
his  voice  broke  again,  he  turned  away,  and  we 
stood  in  silence. 


190 


w 


XV 

A   COOT   STEW 

E  have  had  a  party  and  a  coot  stew  on 
**'  one  and  the  same  day.  The  one  was 
the  instigator  of  the  other.  If  we  had  not  had 
the  coot  stew  we  should  not  have  had  the  party. 
Mr.  Peake  brought  us  yesterday  morning  a  pair 
of  the  fowls  above  mentioned.  He  shot  them 
himself,  and  appeared  to  take  great  pleasure  in 
giving  them  to  us.  Not  knowing  what  was  in 
the  near  future,  we  expressed  gratitude  to  him. 
We  can  always  have  the  consciousness  that, 
whatever  happened  later,  we  were  sincere  at  the 
time  we  thanked  him. 

The  animals,  I  mean  the  fowls,  were  de- 
nuded of  their  feathers  and  ready  to  cook.  Mr. 
Peake  had  even  been  so  thoughtful  as  to  bring 
their  wings,  two  pair  of  them,  thinking  that  we 
might  want  them  to  put  on  hats.  He  said  we 
might  tell  our  friends  when  we  went  away  that 
191 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

we  shot  the  critters,  if  we  wanted  to,  for  he 
believed  it  was  not  customary  to  go  away  from 
Ma'shfield  without  having  killed  a  few  coots, 
and  we  could  show  the  wings  as  proof  of  the 
truth  of  our  assertion.  We  promised  to  consider 
the  suggestion. 

The  coots  looked  darker  than  we  had  thought, 
and  were  altogether  different  from  what  our 
ideal  had  pictured  them  to  be.  ,  From  the  first 
moment  of  their  arrival  Orlando  had  manifested 
a  strong,  and  at  the  same  time,  disgusted  interest 
in  them.  He  wished  to  sniff  at  them  con- 
stantly, and  each  sniff  appeared  to  nauseate  him. 

Mr.  Peake  said  his  wife  sent  word  to  us  that 
if  we  wa  n't  used  to  sea- fowl,  and  did  n't  exactly 
know  whether  we  liked  them  or  not,  we  'd 
better  parboil  them  the  day  before  we  made  the 
stew,  and  throw  that  water  away.  By  so  doing 
we  should  get  rid  of  some  of  the  oil.  "Then," 
said  Mr.  Peake,  "  all  you  've  got  to  do  is  to 
make  'em  up  jest  like  any  stew;  onions,  per- 
taters  and  dumplin's." 

Again  we  expressed  our  gratitude.  Mr. 
Peake  said  he  was  glad  he  happened  to  git  um, 
for  'twas  kind  of  early.  He  was  in  great  spirits, 
192 


A  Coot  Stew 

and  informed  us  that  his  wife  seemed  better  than 
she  had  been  all  summer.  He  'd  been  sure  all 
along  the  bracing  weather  'd  bring  her  round. 

And  Virginy  had  come  home.  She  'd  be 
over  to  see  us  directly. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  we  washed  the  coots 
carefully  and  put  them  on  to  parboil.  When 
the  odor  began  to  diffuse  itself  in  the  little  room 
Orlando  went  out  of  doors  with  his  nose  very 
much  turned  up.  But  we  remained,  being  very 
sure  that  we  liked  coots.  For  myself,  I  had 
inwardly  sworn  tfcat  nothing  should  prevent  my 
liking  them  as  food,  although  as  odorating  articles 
I  now  perceived  that  I  was  not  pleased  with 
them.  But  it  was  not  for  their  perfume  we 
were  cooking  them ;  it  was  for  their  gustatory 
and  nourishing  qualities. 

I  hope  it  will  not  be  suspected  that  the  coots 
had  been  killed  so  long  that  they  were  too  old. 
They  were  perfectly  fresh,  and  their  fragrance 
was  not  from  age.  There  may  be  people  who 
will  read  this  chapter  who  are  old  enough  to 
remember  the  lamps  with  whale  oil  in  them 
which  were  wont  to  illuminate  the  past.  Those 
who  remember  the  lamps  will  recall  the  scent 
'3  193 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

they  threw  around  them,  if  they  happened  not 
to  be  in  perfect  cleanliness. 

It  was  dreadful,  though  we  would  not  then 
admit  it,  that  anything  we  expected  to  eat  should 
smell  exactly  like  old  whale-oil. 

My  friend  made  the  observation  that  Orlando 
seemed  very  fastidious  this  morning,  and  that 
she  herself  noticed  that  the  coots  diffused  an 
odor  not  like  anything  else  ;  but  she  supposed 
that  when  they  had  been  parboiled  all  that  sort 
of  thing  would  be  dispelled.  I  agreed  with  her. 

At  the  proper  time  we  removed  the  coots 
from  the  kettle,  carried  the  kettle  a  good  ways 
over  the  dike  and  emptied  its  contents,  the  terrier 
following  us  and  snuffing  like  a  terrier  bewitched. 

"When  we  put  the  fowls  on  for  the  stew 
to-morrow,"  I  said  cheerfully,  "there  won't  be 
anything  like  this." 

My  companion  assented  with  unnecessary 
ardor  to  my  assertion. 

It  is  useless  to  try  to  explain  the  fact  that  all 
the  remainder  of  the  day  we  were  depressed  and 
silent,  as  if  we  had  something  on  our  minds. 

Mrs.  Peake  had  sent  word  that  we  must  be 
sure  and  put  the  coots  on  early  and  have  them 
194 


A  Coot  Stew 

boil  every  minute  until  dinner  time,  because, 
though  so  good  when  done,  before  they  were 
done  they  were  tough. 

We  rose  earlier  than  usual,  still  depressed  and 
silent.  My  friend  said  that  she  would  put  on 
the  coots  while  I  went  over  to  Mrs.  Grant's  for 
our  daily  milk. 

Long  before  I  reached  the  shanty,  on  my 
return,  the  wind  being  the  right  way,  I  inhaled 
the  fumes  of  cooking  coots,  and  I  owned  to  my- 
self, undisguisedly  then,  that  the  lamp  oil  was 
just  as  strong  as  on  the  day  before.  I  carefully 
carried  our  pint  of  milk  in  what  I  was  every 
day  convinced  was  a  half-pint  bowl. 

I  was  naturally  somewhat  absorbed  in  the 
effort  to  keep  the  milk  all  in  the  bowl.  This 
effort,  and  the  odor  from  the  shanty  were  making 
me  more  and  more  gloomy.  I  did  not  see  any- 
thing but  my  bowl  and  I  did  not  smell  anything 
but  coots. 

I  was  not  aware  of  the  step  behind  me,  and 
only  saw  a  tanned  hand  advanced  and  the  bowl 
taken,  while  a  sweet,  languid  voice  drawled,  — 

"I  have  steadier  nerves  this  morning  than 
you  have.  Why  do  you  take  a  vessel  of  that 
195 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

size  for  more  milk  than  it  can  hold?     Is   it  to 
mortify  the  flesh  ?     Are  you  under  a  vow  ? ' ' 

Virginia's  face,  when  I  looked  at  it,  had  such 
a  happy  expression  upon  it  that  I  began  imme- 
diately, as  it  were,  to  bask  in  its  light. 

For  a  moment  she  made  me  forget  what  I 
will  call,  without  any  desire  to  be  blasphemous, 
the  hell-broth  we  were  concocting  at  the  shanty. 

I  watched  the  unswerving  hand  which  held 
the  bowl  of  milk.  Again  I  felt  how  well 
strung  she  was.  Doubtless  she  had  nerves,  but 
they  were  thoroughly  sheathed  and  in  order. 

I  told  her  it  must  be  a  great  thing  to  be  a 
woman,  and  yet  carry  a  hand  like  that.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  this  capability  indicated  a 
good  deal.  She  smiled.  She  was  very  ready 
to  smile  this  morning.  Her  look  was  the  look 
of  one  who  must  radiate  the  glow  from  within. 

"It  is  the  sunshine,"  she  said.  "  When  the 
sun  has  this  warmth  in  it  I  am  intoxicated. 
The  summer  is  too  short  here  at  the  North. 
There  is  Leife.  Wave  your  handkerchief.  You 
see  I  am  hampered." 

I  heard  the  galloping  of  a  horse's  feet  on  the 
road.     In  the  perfectly  still  air  the  sound   was 
196 


A  Coot  Stew 

almost  metallic.  The  rider  had  flung  up  his 
hat  and  was  looking  at  us.  I  did  as  Virginia 
bade  me,  feeling  that  the  salute  would  not  be 
received  gratefully. 

"We  walked  over  from  Uncle  Peake's,"  said 
the  girl,  her  eyes  following  the  rider.  "He  is 
going  up  to  the  village  for  some  medicine  for 
Aunt  Marcia.  She  is  really  better.  We  are 
quite  cheered." 

She  looked  at  young  Peake  until  with  one 
more  up-tossing  of  the  hat  he  disappeared  on  the 
inland  road.  Then  she  sighed,  but  smiled. 

Hearing  and  seeing  her,  I  sighed  but  did  not 
smile. 

I  could  not  say  I  did  not  approve  of  Leife 
Peake,  and  I  certainly  believed  I  understood  why 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  girl  by  my  side. 
If  he  had  not  done  so  I  would  have  set  him 
down  as  a  blind  dolt.  But  I  would  not  have 
arranged  that  she  should  love  him.  Let  him  be 
sighing  and  dying  for  her.  Let  her  gently  and 
coldly  pity  him  until  Prince  Charming  came  to 
Ma'shfield  and  saw  her  and  won  her  and  carried 
her  away  beyond  the  utmost  purple  rim. 

A  woman's  imagination,  as  is  well  known, 
197 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

when  occupied  by  this  congenial  topic  will  go  a 
great  ways  in  a  short  time. 

As  we  came  near  the  shanty  the  —  shall  I 
say  —  effluvia  proceeding  from  it  banished  all 
such  fancies. 

My  companion  sniffed.  She  threw  her  head 
back  and  sniffed  again.  She  said  one  word,  and 
that  word  was  "Coots." 

She  did  not  utter  it  as  an  interrogation,  but 
simply  as  an  assertion. 

I  was  greatly  relieved  to  find  that  she  knew, 
and  that  I  need  not  explain  anything. 

As  we  came  still  nearer,  she  looked  at  me 
again  and  said  that  perhaps  we  liked  them. 
With  an  effort  toward  politeness  she  went  on  to 
remark  that  some  people  did  like  them. 

My  friend  within  the  shanty  was  stirring  egg 
and  coffee  together,  and  she  had  a  set  look  of 
despair  on  her  face.  Orlando  stood  a  moment 
within  the  door,  then  walked  away  and  carefully 
sat  down  in  a  place  where  the  wind  blew  from 
him  toward  the  house,  and  there  he  went  to 
sleep. 

We  begged  Virginia  to  stay  with  us  through 
the  experience  upon  which  we  were  now  enter- 
198 


A  Coot  Stew 

ing.  We  said  we  knew  she  might  suffer,  but 
her  presence  would  be  a  comfort  to  us.  She 
was  too  good-natured  not  to  consent. 

She  drank  some  coffee  in  our  company  and  in 
company  of  the  stew,  though  she  said  she  had 
breakfasted  at  the  usual  Peake  hour ;  just  before 
daylight.  That  hour  always  gave  her  a  certain 
uncanny  sense  of  having  risen  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  and  eaten  and  drank  with  ghosts  by  a 
kerosene  lamp  that  had  not  been  filled  since  the 
night  before.  She  supposed  it  was  a  necessary 
thing  to  do,  because  almost  all  the  neighbors  par- 
took of  their  first  meal  at  that  time  and  in  that 
way.  It  made  a  long  forenoon,  and  long  fore- 
noons seemed  to  be  the  one  thing  for  which 
Yankees  longed.  They  differed  from  the  lotus 
eaters. 

"  Now  for  my  part,"  went  on  Virginia,  lean- 
ing her  head  back  against  the  grimy  wall,  and 
sitting  in  such  a  way  that  the  rigid  chair  which 
held  her  directly  seemed  a  lounging  chair,  "  for 
my  part  I  think  happiness  ought  to  be  some 
object  in  life.  My  happiness  would  not  be 
achieved  by  grubbing  for  pennies  before  light  in 
the  morning. 

199 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"  Be  sure  I  would  not  have  made  this  confession 
before  a  real  resident  of  the  town.  I  value  their 
good  opinion  too  much.  What  do  you  think 
Mrs.  Burns  would  say  if  she  heard  me  ?  She 
thinks  very  little  of  those  who  are  not  '  scrab- 
bling.' Do  you  know  the  height  of  praise  Mar 
Baker  can  bestow  ?  It  is  when  she  says  of  a 
young  man,  '  He  '11  make  a  good  husband  ;  he  's 
a  nice,  scrabblin'  sort  of  a  feller.' 

"  It  was  a  good  while  before  I  could  imagine 
what  the  word  meant.  Poor  woman  !  She 
has  had  to  scrabble  all  her  life.  I  hope  she  will 
get  to  a  place  some  time  where  it  is  always  after- 
noon, and  will  be  so  changed  that  she  will  be 
glad  of  it.  Can  you  fancy  her  as  resting  ?  " 

The  tones  of  the  speaker  were  full  of  sym- 
pathy and  pity.  She  immediately  changed  them 
as  she  said,  — 

"  Have  you  ever  known  the  curious  experi- 
ence it  is  to  take  '  Zias  off  in  the  fields  for  a  few 
hours  ?  I  've  done  it  several  times  because  I  was 
so  sorry  for  his  mother.  When  I  do  it  I  give 
myself  up  to  one  occupation,  and  that  is  hunting 
for  trees  that  are  just  right  for  him  to  swing  from 
their  tops.  I  tell  you  he  makes  it  arduous  work. 
200 


A  Coot  Stew 

If  you  give  over  for  a  minute  he  begins  to  cry, 
and  then  you  know  that  you  would  rather  sac- 
rifice almost  anything  than  to  hear  him  cry. 
There  is  nothing  in  this  world  that  makes  me 
so  angry  as  to  hear  Ozias  Baker  cry.  He  bellows 
and  he  snuffles  and  he  punches  his  fists  into  his 
eyes,  and  he  gurgles  that  he  will  tell  his  mar, 
until  the  temptation  to  slap  him  hard  and  often 
is  a  temptation  nearly  irresistible.  But  you  must 
not  slap  him,  because  he  is  not  half-witted.  All 
you  can  do  is  to  hurry  frantically  to  find  another 
tree  for  him  to  swing  on.  Then  he  laughs,  and 
when  he  laughs  you  are  only  one  degree  less 
irritated  than  when  he  cries.  Yes,  Ozias  is  a 
companion  to  be  dreaded." 

About  an  hour  after  breakfast,  which,  for 
some  reason  I  was  sure  none  of  us  enjoyed,  my 
fellow- sufferer,  who  was  slicing  potatoes  and 
onions  for  the  stew,  proposed  that  we  invite  a 
few  friends  to  dine  with  us.  We  hailed  the 
proposition  with  delight.  She  said  it  was  a 
pity  to  have  such  a  good  dinner  all  by  our- 
selves ;  and  I  added  that  it  was  a  shame  to  be 
so  selfish  as  that ;  and  we  would  put  the  table 
and  chairs  on  the  shady  side,  and  I  would  go 
201 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

immediately  and  borrow  plates  and  things  from 
Mrs.  Grant.  Before  I  went,  however,  we 
settled  that  I  should  invite  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grant,  July  Burns,  and  Ozias  and  his  mother. 
We  wished  we  could  also  ask  Mr.  Peake  and 
his  wife,  but  they  were  too  far  away  for  so 
impromptu  a  dinner  party,  and  their  niece  was 
sure  her  uncle  could  not  leave  his  work. 

I  set  off  quite  gayly  on  my  errands  ;  all  the 
people  promised  to  come,  and  seemed  pleased 
with  the  prospect  of  a  coot  stew.  Mrs.  Burns 
offered  to  arrive  early  and  season  it  for  us,  for 
she  said  that  a  great  deal  depended  on  the 
amount  of  pepper  and  salt  there  was  in  this 
kind  of  victuals.  She  seemed  much  chagrined 
when  I  confessed,  in  answer  to  her  question, 
that  we  had  not  put  in  a  red  pepper  in  whole 
form,  just  as  that  condiment  grew  in  the  gar- 
den. She  had  never  heard  of  a  coot  stew  being 
made  in  any  other  way,  and  plainly  thought 
still  less  of  us  from  that  moment. 

As  the  time  approached  for  us  to  leave  the 

shanty,  perhaps  never  again  to  return  to  it,  I 

felt    a   welcome   sense   of  independence    as   to 

what  July  Burns  did  think  of  us.      I  was  sure 

202 


A  Coot  Stew 

that  she  pitied  us  somewhat  and  despised  us 
more.  Was  it  not  true  that  we  had  never 
been  able  to  ketch  no  man,  and  that  we  had 
not,  until  very  recently,  been  capable  of  making 
bumonge  ?  What  more  need  she  to  know  ? 
But  I  cared  now  little  as  to  whether  or  not  we 
should  succeed  before  we  left  in  modifying  her 
opinion  of  us.  I  could  not  explain  to  myself 
why  I  had  ever  cared  a  particle  what  her  judg- 
ment was  concerning  us.  My  friend  declared 
that  it  was  a  lack  of  moral  stamina  that  had 
made  us  so  weak.  She  said  that  though  she 
was  not  sure  as  to  what  moral  stamina  was 
precisely,  she  was  certain  it  was  a  good  thing 
to  have,  and  she  never  meant  to  go  to  any 
place  like  a  dike  again  without  it.  In  the 
future  she  intended  not  to  care  what  people 
like  Mar  Baker  and  Joel  Burns' s  relict  thought 
of  her. 

It  was  thus  that  we  exchanged  thoughts  and 
resolves  after  I  had  hastened  back  from  giving 
my  invitations,  and  while  we  were  hurrying  to 
arrange  the  table  out  of  doors  and  place  the 
borrowed  crockery  thereon  before  our  guests 
should  appear. 

203 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

Miss  Vance  went  off,  politely  accompanied 
by  Orlando.  When  she  returned  she  bore 
large  quantities  of  asters  and  golden  rod,  with 
which  she  decked  the  otherwise  somewhat  bare 
table.  It  is  true  that  some  of  the  flowers  had 
to  be  put  in  empty  stone  beer  bottles,  and  that 
the  attempt  to  hide  the  bottles  by  twining  five- 
fingered  ivy  about  them  was  distressingly  un- 
successful. There  seemed  to  be  a  natural 
antipathy  on  the  part  of  the  bottles  toward 
any  sort  of  decoration,  and  their  glazed  sides 
smoothly  rejected  every  clambering  leaf.  They 
were  beer  jugs  and  declined  to  be  obscured  or 
disguised  in  any  way. 

If  we  ever  give  a  fashionable  dinner-party  I 
do  not  think  we  shall  suffer  so  much  anxiety  as 
we  felt  concerning  that  coot  stew. 

It  would  be  indescribably  shameful  to  us  if 
the  dish  should  not  be  just  what  these  people 
were  accustomed  to  having ;  and,  to  add  to 
our  responsibility,  we  had  reason  to  think  that 
ours  would  be  the  first  coot  stew  of  the  season, 
and  thus  attended  by  a  certain  £clat  which 
would  make  a  failure  all  the  harder  to  bear. 

As  time  went  on  the  odor  within  the  shanty 
204 


A  Coot  Stew 

became  stronger  and  stronger ;  and,  in  truth, 
it  was  a  dreadful  odor.  It  did  not  seem  pos- 
sible that  our  dinner  ought  to  send  forth  such 
a  stench  ;  certainly  stench  does  not  seem  too 
strong  a  name  for  it. 

I  was  thankful  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grant 
were  the  first  to  arrive,  instead  of  Mrs.  Burns. 
We  placed  Mr.  Grant  in  the  shade  and  then 
we  begged  his  wife  to  come  in  the  house  for  a 
moment.  She  limped  good-naturedly  into  the 
shanty.  We,  with  poorly  disguised  solicitude, 
asked  her  if  she  would  honestly  tell  if  what  we 
were  cooking  smelled  all  right. 

Mrs.  Grant  lifted  the  lid  from  the  kettle,  as 
if  that  were  necessary.  But  the  action  seemed 
to  make  things  stronger,  and  I  wished  I  were 
outside,  in  the  place  Orlando  had  selected  in 
which  to  pass  the  time  while  we  were  engaged 
in  what  must  seem  to  him  barbarous  orgies. 
We  watched  Mrs.  Grant's  face  and  hung  upon 
her  words. 

"Law!"  she  said,  replacing  the  kettle 
cover,  "don't  you  worry  one  bit.  The  stew 
smells  proper  nice.  It  '11  be  first-rate.  I  see 
you've  got  the  dumplin's  ready.  I  guess  I'll 
put  'em  in."  205 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

While  she  was  placing  the  balls  of  dough  on 
top  of  the  bubbling  mass  of  potatoes,  onions, 
and  coots,  she  was  asked  if  really  the  thing 
ought  to  smell  quite  so,  —  well,  quite  so  awful, 
you  know. 

She  looked  at  us  in  amazement.  We  felt 
our  spirits  rise.  Her  amazement  seemed  to 
turn  to  sorrow  for  us. 

"I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  "that  you  don't 
like  coots.  They  be  kind  of  strong  for  you 
folks  that  are  made  so  you  ain't  fond  of 'em." 

All  our  friends  came. 

We  shall  never  cease  to  be  grateful  to  Miss 
Vance  for  the  marvellous  skill  with  which  she 
pretended  to  eat  heartily  of  the  mess  which  we 
set  before  her.  She  was,  as  they  say  here,  so 
"easy  in  her  manners,"  and  she  had  "such 
pooty  ways ' '  of  speaking  about  the  whole  affair, 
that  the  stew  seemed  to  its  lovers,  I  am  sure, 
even  better  than  it  was.  How  could  she  ap- 
pear to  like  it  so  well  ? 

I  suppose  that  Ozias   will  live,  for  no   one 

seemed  astonished   at  his   success   in   regard   to 

the    amount  he   ate.      Perhaps   I   ought   to   be 

humiliated   because   I   felt   proud    and   thankful 

206 


A  Coot  Stew 

when,  about  half-way  through  the  banquet,  the 
under-witted  one  proclaimed  aloud  that  he 
thought  it  was  the  best  coot  stew  he  had  ever 
tasted.  I  was  so  elated  at  hearing  him  say 
these  words  that  I  was  happy  during  the  rest 
of  the  time  that  the  party  lasted.  It  was  like 
receiving  praise  from  Sir  Hubert  Stanley. 

Yes,  it  must  have  been  a  good  stew.  The 
feasters  not  only  praised  it,  but  ate  copiously  of 
it.  They  seemed  not  able  to  stop  eating.  But 
then  it  was  the  first  stew  of  the  season.  We, 
who  had  concocted  it,  could  almost  say  that 
this  was  the  proudest  moment  of  our  lives.  I 
am  sure  that,  if  either  of  us  had  made  an  after- 
dinner  speech,  we  should  have  used  that  phrase. 
It  was  plain,  beyond  mistake,  that  July  Burns 
approved  ;  and  we  felt  that  we  had  at  last 
shown  ourselves  worthy  of  her  approval. 

As  for  me,  I  will  not  hesitate  to  say  that  I 
do  not  like  coots.  I  courageously  tasted  our 
own  dinner,  but  that  was  all  ;  it  was  more  than 
enough.  To  quote  that  always  quotable  child, 
Little  Marjory,  a  coot  "  is  a  thing  I  am  not  a 
member  of,"  and  to  quote  her  again,  a  coot 
"is  devilish." 

207 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

The  guests  pitied  us  when  they  found  we 
could  not  relish  this  delicacy.  They  tried  to 
encourage  us  by  saying  that  perhaps  we  might 
learn  to  like  it.  But  why,  we  asked  ourselves, 
should  we  try  to  enjoy  a  flavor  made  up  of  the 
flavors  of  rancid  fish  oil  and  wild-fowl  that  ap- 
pear to  have  fed  on  stale  fish ;  a  combination 
of  the  worst  there  is  in  fish  and  fowl.  Is  it 
worth  while  to  spend  effort  in  acquiring  a  liking 
for  coots  ? 

Ozias  did  not  pity  us.  I  saw  that  he  was 
glad  we  did  not  partake,  for  would  there  not 
be  more  for  him  ? 

At  last  there  was  one  plateful  left,  and  this 
we  made  Mrs.  Baker  take  home  with  her  that 
she  might  warm  it  over  for  her  son's  supper. 
When  our  party  had  dispersed  we  called 
Orlando  in.  He  came  very  gingerly,  with 
nose  elevated  suspiciously ;  but  things  seemed 
better  to  him.  He  consented  to  join  us  in  a 
plain  meal  of  bread  and  milk.  In  this  repast 
we  were  also  joined  by  Miss  Vance  who  pro- 
fessed to  be  almost  starved. 


208 


XVI 
AN   AFTER-DINNER   EPISODE 

WE  who  had  prepared  the  coot  dinner  and 
borne  the  responsibility  of  it,  naturally 
suffered  a  reaction  after  our  triumph.  It  was 
very  warm,  as  it  is  likely  to  be  on  a  September 
midday.  Our  dinner  had  been  at  precisely 
twelve  of  the  clock.  We  knew  our  neighbors 
too  well  to  offer  them  a  dinner  at  any  other 
hour.  By  one  they  were  gone,  the  dishes 
were  washed,  the  fire  in  the  stove  was  out. 

The  sun  was  looking  down  unblinkingly 
upon  the  silent  dike  lands,  —  silent  save  for  the 
monotonous  whir  and  drone  of  the  insects  in 
the  parched  "second  crop"  grass.  That  whir 
and  drone  seemed  but  the  voice,  the  accentu- 
ation of  the  silence. 

Virginia  was  lying  on  the  ground  in  the 
shade,  with  a  folded  shawl  for  a  pillow.  She 
said  she  liked  nothing  in  a  warm  day  so  well  as 
14  209 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

lying  in  the  shade  unless  it  were  to  lie  in  the 
sun. 

Orlando  was  curled  in  a  ball  near  her,  occa- 
sionally opening  shining  eyes  to  peep  through 
his  hair  and  see  that  all  was  well. 

My  friend  was  asleep  in  one  of  the  bunks. 
I  opened  a  folding  rattan  chair  and  put  it  by 
the  window  and  was  soon  asleep  in  it. 

I  have  described  these  arrangements  so  par- 
ticularly that  the  practised  reader  will  immedi- 
ately suspect  that  something  is  going  to  happen. 
Yes,  the  practised  reader  will  be  right. 

What  happened  was  that  I  became  an  eaves- 
dropper. If  I  had  not  explained  about  the 
rattan  chair  and  the  open  window  it  might  not 
have  been  thoroughly  understood  why  I  over- 
heard as  I  did. 

I  seemed  to  be  dreaming.  I  dreamed  that 
an  immense  coot  flew  over  from  the  water  and 
alighted  close  to  the  shanty,  and  that  the  terrier 
growled  but  did  not  bark.  The  coot  put  up 
one  claw  and  took  off  his  head  as  if  it  were  a 
hat,  and  said,  — 

"  Ah,  pardon  me,  Miss  Vance.  But  I  am 
so  glad  to  find  you  that  I  can't  be  sorry  to  dis- 
210 


An  After-Dinner  Episode 

turb  you.  I  have  been  up  to  your  uncle's ;  I 
have  looked  everywhere  for  you." 

By  this  time  I  was  awake  and  knew  that  the 
speaker  was  not  a  coot  but  was  July  Burns's 
former  patient,  and  that  he  was  standing  there 
with  his  hat  in  one  hand,  and  a  cane,  on  which 
he  leaned,  in  the  other.  He  was  very  pale  and 
thin,  and  had  a  great  expression  of  resolution 
on  his  face.  His  apparel  was  something  so 
immaculate,  so  exquisitely  appropriate  to  pre- 
cisely this  date  of  early  fall,  that  I  know  I  can- 
not adequately  describe  it. 

Evidently  Virginia  had  been  in  a  deep  sleep, 
for  she  put  both  hands  to  her  face  and  pushed 
back  her  hair  before  she  could  return  his  gaze. 
She  was  now  in  a  sitting  posture  on  the  grass. 

"Pray  be  seated,  Mr.  Ross,"  she  said  at 
last,  motioning  toward  a  chair.  "  It  was  not 
wise  of  you  to  walk  far." 

"  I  have  not  walked  far.  I  have  a  carriage 
on  the  road  yonder." 

He  seemed  glad  to  sit  down,  and  more  glad 
of  the  opportunity  to  continue  looking  at  the 
girl.  He  availed  himself  of  this  opportunity  in 
a  very  hungry  way. 

211 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"  You  gave  me  a  certain  promise  when  I  was 
ill,"  he  finally  said,  with  some  abruptness. 

"  People  promise  a  great  many  things  to  a 
person  who  is  ill,"  replied  Virginia. 

Mr.  Ross  did  not  choose  to  answer  this 
remark.  The  determination  in  his  face  really 
made  him  look  quite  manly  in  spite  of  the 
effeminate  carefulness  in  dress. 

"  I  want  to  remind  you  of  the  promise,"  he 
said. 

The  girl  was  silent. 

Mr.  Ross  seemed  to  grow  more  desperate 
and  more  determined. 

"The  promise,"  he  said,  "was  that  when  I 
recovered  you  would  allow  me  to  flirt  with 
you." 

Virginia  grew  red. 

"This  is  all  very  silly,"  she  exclaimed. 
"Is  it  possible  you  have  remembered  such 
folly  and  come  to  claim  a  fulfilment  ? ' ' 

He  moved  his  cane  restlessly. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  fulfil  the  promise," 
he  said  with  a  kind  of  feeble  violence.  "I 
wouldn't  allow  it.  But  I  have  remembered. 
I  remember  every  word  you  have  said  to  me." 

212 


An  After-Dinner  Episode 

He  became  silent.  What  did  he  mean  ? 
Perhaps  his  meaning  was  not  hard  to  guess.  I 
gazed  at  him  with  the  calm  curiosity  of  a  third 
person.  He  was  quite  livid.  His  eyes  looked 
hot. 

I  thought  there  was  no  need  to  proclaim  my 
presence,  for  Miss  Vance  knew  perfectly  well 
where  I  was. 

It  was  apparently  out  of  the  girl's  power  to 
break  the  silence.  It  was  also  unnecessary. 
In  a  moment  he  gave  the  following  rather  gen- 
eral definition  with  almost  a  tragic  fervor  :  — 

"  To  flirt  is  to  amuse  oneself." 

He  paused  as  if  to  recover  calmness  ;  and 
presently  resumed,  "  I  am  past  amusing  myself 
where  you  are  concerned." 

In  his  earnestness  the  young  man  must  now 
command  respect. 

This  time  his  companion  did  not  flush. 
Neither  did  she  speak.  She  gave  him  a  glance. 

I  may  have  heretofore  hinted  that  when  Miss 
Vance  looked  at  one  in  a  certain  way  one  was 
vividly  aware  of  the  fact.  Even  I,  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  calm  third  person,  felt  my  blood  sud- 
denly glow  because  of  a  glance  which  did  not 
213 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

belong  to  me.      What  then,  must  have  been  its 
effect  upon  this  man  ? 

It  was  he  who  flushed  now.  He  rose  and 
made  a  step  forward  hastily. 

I  shall  never  know  what  he  would  have  said, 
for  she  rose  also  and  with  a  movement  of  her 
hand  seemed  to  restrain  him,  even  before  she 
spoke. 

"  Here  is  my  friend  to  whom  you  have  not 
been  presented." 

The  young  man  came  toward  the  window 
where  I  sat,  and  which  Virginia  also  ap- 
proached. He  so  plainly  wished  me  per- 
haps at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  that  I  was 
embarrassed  by  the  mere  fact  of  not  being  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

He  tried  to  stammer  out  some  remark  about 
the  pleasures  of  an  unconventional  life  in  a 
shanty,  and  I  tried  to  reply  to  him. 

Virginia  did  not  help  us  any.  She  may 
have  been  unable  to  do  so.  She  was  bending 
over  and  playing  with  Orlando.  It  was  a  bad 
moment  for  us  all.  It  was  terminated,  or  I 
might  say  aggravated,  by  the  appearance  of 
another  actor. 

214 


An  After-Dinner  Episode 

I  heard  some  one  whistling  on  the  other  side 
of  the  shanty,  a  quick,  firm  step,  and  Leife 
Peake  appeared  with  his  hands  thrust  into  the 
pockets  of  his  loose  coat. 

The  instant  he  turned  the  corner  of  the 
building  he  felt  the  electricity  in  the  air.  He 
withdrew  his  hands  from  their  resting  place, 
and  assumed  that  hostile  attitude  with  which 
one  man  sometimes  meets  another.  If  he  had 
been  a  dog  he  would  have  bristled.  Not 
being  a  dog  he  did  all  he  could  to  appear  to 
bristle. 

He  plainly  was  not  acquainted  with  the  other 
gentleman,  but  knew  him.  There  was  some- 
thing almost  insolent  in  the  way  his  eyes  rested 
on  the  pale  fellow  who  leaned  somewhat 
heavily  on  his  stick. 

Miss  Vance  named  the  two  to  each  other, 
and  they  grimly  nodded. 

Peake  said  that  his  mother  had  had  a  bad 
turn,  and  was  besides  a  little  anxious  to  know 
where  her  niece  was,  so  she  had  sent  him  to 
find  her.  He  added  that  he  was  very  sorry  to 
ask  her  to  leave  such  company,  glancing  at 
Mr.  Ross. 

215 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

"  I  dare  say  mother  can  wait ;  and  you  can 
come  later." 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  but  paused  when 
Virginia  said  that  she  would  immediately  go 
home  with  him.  Her  tone  had  a  slight  edge 
to  it  as  she  spoke  these  words,  and  I  wondered 
how  Peake  liked  it.  It  was  the  first  time  I 
was  made  aware  that  there  could  be  an  edge 
to  that  voice. 

In  a  very  different  way,  and  with  marked 
courtesy,  she  said  good-by  to  Mr.  Ross. 
That  gentleman  had  presence  and  strength  of 
mind  sufficient  to  ask  permission  to  call  upon 
her. 

Then  he  limped  slowly  off  toward  his  car- 
riage, and  the  other  two  departed  also. 

It  was  only  the  girl  who  was  thoughtful 
enough  to  bid  adieu  to  me. 

I  sank  back  in  my  chair  and  fell  to  musing. 
My  friend  had  continued  to  sleep.  She  had 
not  witnessed  the  scene  from  this  small  comedy. 

Orlando  came  and  sat  on  my  lap.  We  con- 
fided to  each  other  our  belief  that  it  must  be  a 
very  painful  as  well  as  a  very  interesting  state 
when  two  men  are  in  love  with  one  woman. 
216 


An  After-Dinner  Episode 

When  I  questioned  Orlando  as  to  which  man 
the  woman  in  her  very  heart  most  favored,  the 
terrier  cocked  one  ear,  stopped  panting,  and 
suggested  that,  after  all,  the  whole  affair  was 
probably  of  very  little  consequence.  I,  being 
a  woman  with  a  melancholy  dearth  of  love 
affairs  of  my  own,  did  not  agree  with  Orlando. 

Of  course  I  knew  she  loved  Peake.  Had  I 
not  observed  ?  Although  I  did  not  wholly 
approve  of  her  loving  Peake,  I  was  convinced 
that  she  did  love  him.  I  was  not  conscious 
that  July  Burns' s  hints  that  "  Virginy  was  er 
fixin',"  had  anything  to  do  with  these  in- 
tuitions of  mine. 

I  had  seen  that  softening  of  the  dark  face, 
that  sudden,  unconscious  melting  of  the  eyes  in 
Leife  Peake' s  presence. 

As  I  confided  these  ideas  of  mine  to  my 
friend  when  she  at  last  emerged  from  her  bunk 
she  assented  with  almost  suspicious  readiness. 

At  the  conclusion  of  our  conversation  on  this 
subject  she  made  one  remark  which  rankled 
somewhat. 

She  said  that,  on  the  other  hand,  we  could 
neither  of  us  judge  accurately  as  to  what  were 
217 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

Miss  Vance's  thoughts  concerning  Mr.  Ross, 
because  we  had  not  been  in  a  position  to  wit- 
ness any  unconscious  softening  and  melting  in 
that  admirer's  presence. 

I  had  kept  sacredly  unspoken  my  knowledge 
of  the  way  the  girl  had  looked  at  Mr.  Ross  just 
now.  What  did  my  friend  mean  ? 

I  do  not  know  that  this  Southern  New  Eng- 
land girl  could  be  blamed  if  she  had  a  face 
and  eyes  which  gave  such  delicious  suggestions. 
Why  accuse  her  if  her  face  and  eyes  sometimes 
make  you  think  unutterable  things  ?  And  then 
her  kindness,  her  cordiality  were  as  spontaneous 
and  genuine  as  the  warm  grasp  of  her  hand. 

If  she  had  had  an  ugly  face  and  pig  eyes  she 
might,  of  course,  have  had  as  kind  a  heart,  but 
then  who  cares  so  much  for  a  kind  heart  when 
connected  with  pig  eyes  ? 

Of  one  thing  we  were  sure,  —  that  it  had 
been  a  great  blessing  to  us  that  Mrs.  Peake's 
niece  had  come  north  to  live  with  her  aunt. 


218 


XVII 

POOR    RODGE 

"  "pVRETFUL   tryin'    weather   for   anybody 

\J     that's  sick." 

So  said  Mrs.  Baker  the  other  day  as  we  all 
sat  on  the  steps  that  led  to  the  door  of  her 
house.  Ozias  had  been  sent  to  the  post-office, 
and  so  there  was  a  slight  intermission  in  the 
stress  of  his  mother's  anxiety  concerning  him, 
for  he  was  never  known  to  get  into  mischief  in 
going  to  the  post-office  or  in  coming  from  it. 

"Ee-us,"  repeated  Mrs.  Baker,  wearily, 
"it's  so  trying  that  they  say  folks  as  come  for 
the  summer  are  goin'  away  earlier 'n  common. 
But  that  young  feller,  that  Mr.  Ross  is  still 
over  to  the  Brant.  I  seen  him  yisterd'y  in  a 
buggy  goin'  toward  Rodge  Peake's.  They  say 
he 's  a  ha'ntin'  round  there  er  sight.  Jest  be- 
witched with  that  Virginy,  I  guess.  She  goes 
out  with  him  in  his  buggy  once  'n  a  while. 
219 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

Wall,  I  hope  whoever  ketches  her  '11  be  worthy 
of  her." 

Mrs.  Baker  relapsed  into  a  long  silence. 

It  had  been  dry  and  hot  in  August  and  thus 
far  into  September.  Every  day  the  sun  had 
risen  red,  had  gone  its  round  obscured  partially 
by  a  smoky  haze,  and  then  had  set  redly  in  the 
west.  We  had  almost  ceased  to  think  that  it 
could  rain,  although  a  few  times  thunderheads 
had  risen  threateningly  ;  but  they  had  only  dis- 
charged a  few  big  drops  and  then  dispersed. 
It  had  begun  to  be  "sickly"  among  the  vil- 
lages near  the  coast.  One  and  another  yielded 
to  low,  feverish  attacks,  and  two  deaths  had 
occurred.  We  often  saw  the  doctor's  sulky 
going  rapidly  along  the  highway,  a  white  dust 
whirling  after  it.  There  was  a  call  for  Mrs. 
Burns,  but  she  had  been  for  some  time  helping 
take  care  of  Mrs.  Peake,  who,  without  seeming 
much  worse,  had  yet  gradually  given  up  all  pre- 
tence of  work.  Perhaps  it  would  be  more 
accurate  to  say  that  Mrs.  Burns  was  doing  the 
Peake  housework  than  that  she  was  nursing 
Mrs.  Peake,  who  was  dressed  and  about  the 
house  every  day,  particularly  waited  upon  by 
220 


Poor  Roclge 

her  niece.  Folks  said  that  his  wife's  sickness 
was  making  a  sober  man  of  Mr.  Peake,  for  he 
had  not  touched  a  drop  of  liquor  so  far  as  any 
one  knew  since  that  time  when  he  had  been 
mowing  our  grass. 

Two  days  ago  we  walked  over  to  see  Mrs. 
Peake.  We  took  her  some  dainties  we  had 
been  able  to  prepare.  Strange  to  say,  though 
very  thin,  she  seemed  to  have  lost  that  faded 
look  we  had  noticed  when  we  first  saw  her, 
and  now  she  had  a  startling  resemblance  to  the 
blond  pretty  girl  she  mast  have  been  when  she 
insisted  upon  marrying  Rodge  Peake.  Her 
smile  was  sweeter,  and  her  voice  even  more 
gentle  and  winning  in  its  slow  sound. 

Virginia  happened  to  be  gone  out  to  rest  for 
a  half  hour  and  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  Her 
aunt  said  with  feeling  that  she  didn't  know 
how  she  should  live  without  Virginy. 

The  invalid  appeared  to  be  glad  to  see  us. 
She  said  folks  were  very  kind  to  her ;  she 
didn't  know  what  she  had  done  that  folks 
should  be  so  kind.  Her  words  were  often 
interrupted  by  her  cough,  about  which  she  said 
nothing.  She  thought  she  was  gradually  im- 

221 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

proving  ;  the  doctor's  medicine  seemed  to  agree 
with  her.  No,  she  didn't  have  much  appe- 
tite, but  she  expected  she  would  soon  come 
to  that. 

When  we  had  risen  to  go,  Mr.  Peake  came 
in  with  a  basket  of  large,  yellow  porter  apples 
he  had  been  gathering.  After  one  glance  at 
him  I  hardly  dared  look  again,  his  face  was  so 
pinched  and  worn.  He  shook  hands  with  us 
and  said  briskly  that  he  guessed  we  found  his 
wife  looking  quite  bright.  We  tried  to  answer 
in  the  same  vein.  When  we  had  reached  the 
door  Mrs.  Peake  called  us  back  and  kissed  us. 
She  did  not  have  the  appearance  of  bidding  us 
farewell,  but  only  remarked  that  she  supposed 
we  would  soon  be  leaving  Ma'shfield,  and  we 
had  been  so  kind. 

Her  husband  stood  without,  his  features 
working  painfully.  When  we  joined  him  in 
the  little  yard  he  again  shook  hands  with  us, 
as  he  told  us  brokenly  that  "  Marcia  had  took 
to  us  from  the  first."  Having  said  this,  he 
walked  quickly  away,  and  we  went  homeward. 

Yes,  we  repeated  for  the  twentieth  time,  we 
must  leave  the  shanty.  Why  should  we  stay 
222 


Poor  Rodge 

any  longer  ?  That  brassy  sky  above  us  was 
depressing,  and  the  never-ceasing  moan  of  the 
ocean  which,  in  its  way,  seemed  to  be  affected 
by  the  "dry  time,"  would  finally  give  us 
melancholia.  Orlando,  who  always  mysteri- 
ously shared  our  moods,  trotted  on  mechani- 
cally, with  not  even  one  dash  aside. 

This,  as  I  said,  was  two  days  ago.  Last 
night,  when  the  sun  was  within  an  hour  of 
setting,  a  great  bank  of  clouds  rose  from  the 
west  and  obscured  that  crimson  ball.  I  was 
thankful.  In  the  air  there  was  a  certain  sense 
of  moisture  which  we  had  not  felt  for  long. 
Mar  Baker  said  she  really  believed  we  should 
have  rain  before  morning.  Not  two  hours 
after  that  prophecy  the  gray,  wet-looking  clouds 
had  covered  the  whole  sky,  smoothed  and 
massed  themselves,  and  the  rain  began  to  fall 
with  a  steady  heaviness  that  was  refreshing. 
There  was  no  wind,  and  we  stood  at  the  door 
of  our  shanty  and  watched  the  sheets  of  water 
come  down  straightly.  The  terrier  was  so 
overjoyed  that  he  ran  out  and  capered  in  the 
wet,  and  we  would  have  liked  to  follow  his 
example. 

223 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

It  was  in  that  darkest  time  in  the  next  morn- 
ing that  Orlando's  sharp  barking  disturbed  us 
as  we  lay  dreaming  in  our  bunks.  The  rain 
was  still  pounding  steadily  on  the  roof.  I  was 
very  sleepy,  but  I  became  wide  awake  when  I 
heard  something  heavy  fall  against  the  door,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  a  voice  said  "Hullo!" 
The  dog  barked  worse  than  ever.  Confusedly 
I  rolled  from  my  bunk,  lighted  a  lamp  and 
huddled  some  clothes  upon  me,  my  friend 
dressing  also.  We  had  heard  nothing  more, 
but  Orlando  did  not  for  an  instant  stop  barking. 

Before  drawing  the  bolt  we  asked  who  was 
there,  and  as  no  one  replied,  we  gradually  opened 
the  door  until  the  light  from  our  lamp  revealed 
Rodge  Peake  leaning  against  the  wall  outside. 

His  face  was  terribly  white,  and  he  was  soaked 
with  water.  We  each  put  a  hand  out  and  drew 
him  in.  He  stood  dripping,  while  the  dog 
ceased  his  noise  instantly  and  began  smelling 
about  this  unexpected  guest. 

Now  that  the  man  was  in  the  room  we  could 
detect  the  odor  of  whiskey,  but  he  seemed  per- 
fectly sober.  There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes 
which  frightened  me. 

224 


Poor  Rodge 

"  Did  you  come  for  us  ?  Is  your  wife 
worse?"  asked  my  friend,  quickly. 

Mr.  Peake  turned  sharply  toward  the  speaker. 
He  laughed  a  little  as  he  said  hoarsely,  "  My 
wife 's  dead.  She  died  about  midnight.  I  killed 
her." 

We  stood  silent  and  trembling. 

After  a  short  time  he  laughed  again,  and  said 
in  the  same  voice,  — 

"  She  kinder  took  to  you  two.  She  used  to 
talk  consid'able  'bout  you.  You  know  she 
kissed  you  when  she  saw  you  last." 

He  turned  to  the  open  door,  where  the  cur- 
tain of  the  rain  fell  steadily.  He  paused  long 
enough  to  add:  "Thought  I'd  tell  you.  I 
guess  I  '11  be  goin'  now.  But  I  killed  her. 
There  ain't  no  mistake  'bout  that  part  of  it." 

He  stepped  quickly  out  before  we  could  think 
to  stop  him.  When  we  did  think,  we  ran 
after  him,  calling  his  name.  But  he  was  hidden 
in  the  dark  and  would  not  reply.  Orlando 
found  him,  we  knew  by  the  dog's  voice,  but 
he  could  not  bring  him  back. 

We  dressed  fully  and  sat  down,  waiting  until 
we  could  think  what  to  do,  and  as  we  waited 
15  225 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

the  daylight  began  to  grow.  While  it  was  still 
gray  we  put  on  water-proofs,  and  hurried, 
splashing  through  the  pools  of  water,  to  Mr. 
Kendall's  house  on  the  road.  To  him  we  told 
our  story.  He  was  greatly  concerned,  but  was 
inclined  to  think  that  Peake  had  got  crazy  with 
drink,  and  did  not  know  what  he  said  or  did. 

He  said  he  would  harness  and  go  right  over 
to  Mr.  Peake' s.  He  did  so,  and  we  waited 
until  his  return.  It  kept  raining  in  the  same 
heavy  way.  We  were  thankful  that  Mrs.  Ken- 
dall was  not  one  of  the  talking  kind,  so  that  we 
could  sit  at  the  window  and  watch  in  silence. 
Very  soon  Mr.  Kendall  came  back.  He  hur- 
ried into  the  house. 

Mrs.  Peake  was  dead.  Rodge  had  been  over 
to  the  Cut  on  business  that  afternoon,  and  he 
did  not  come  home  at  supper  time.  Then  his 
wife,  who  had  been  unusually  bright  all  day, 
began  to  worry.  Leife  was  off  somewhere  for 
the  day.  Mrs.  Peake  would  not  go  to  bed 
when  it  came  bed-time.  She  told  July  Burns 
that  she  should  n't  rest,  and  she  might  as  well 
be  up.  She  expressed  great  fear  that  her  hus- 
band had  been  seized  with  one  of  his  'tacks  of 
226 


Poor  Rodge 

die  nerves,  and  she  was  not  able  to  take  care  of 
him.  She  said  no  one  knew  as  she  did  what 
he  needed  at  such  times. 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Mr.  Kendall,  at  this 
point,  trying  to  steady  his  voice,  "I  don't  think 
July  was  as  sympathetic  with  the  poor  woman 
as  she  might  have  ben.  They  say  Virginy, 
who  was  up  all  the  night  before  with  her  aunt, 
had  gone  to  bed.  I  gethered  from  what  July 
said  herself,  that  she  informed  Mrs.  Peake  that 
Rodge  was  prob'ly  drunk  somewhere.  When 
the  sick  woman  heard  her  say  that,  she  rose  up 
from  her  chair  and  told  July  that  she  would 
never  speak  to  her  agin.  She  did  n't  and  she 
never  will." 

It  was  about  half-past  eleven  that  Mrs.  Peake 
heard  a  slight  sound,  as  of  some  one  falling  near 
the  door.  She  sprang  up  and  out  into  the  rain. 
There  was  Rodge,  unable  to  walk  steadily. 
His  wife  bent  over  him,  thrusting  July  Burns 
back  furiously.  She  got  her  husband  inside  the 
door. 

She  had  her  arm  around  him,  and  she  had 
just  said,  "Poor  Rodge!     You've  got  one  of 
them    'tacks  agin,    ain't   you?"    when   a  thin 
227 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

stream  of  bright  blood  came  from  her  mouth, 
and  she  leaned  up  heavily  against  the  man  she 
was  trying  to  help. 

The  sight  of  that  blood  sobered  Rodge  in  an 
instant.  He  carried  his  wife  into  the  sitting- 
room  and  put  her  on  the  lounge,  kneeling  be- 
side it,  she  clinging  feebly  to  him  all  the  time. 
He  said  he  would  go  for  the  doctor;  but  she 
would  not  let  him  stir. 

"There  ain't  no  need  of  a  doctor,"  she 
said. 

The  blood  stopped  flowing  almost  directly. 
She  said  she  was  better,  and  held  him  tighter 
and  tighter,  until,  all  at  once,  the  strength  left 
her  and  she  died. 

Still  he  would  not  let  her  aunt  or  July  take 
her  from  him.  He  kept  swearing  she  had  only 
fainted,  until,  all  at  once,  it  seemed  to  come  to 
him  that  she  was  dead.  Then  he  put  her  back 
on  the  lounge.  He  stood  above  her,  looking 
down  at  her  for  many  minutes. 

Mrs.  Peake's  aunt,  who  told  this  to  Mr. 
Kendall,  said  she  had  never  seen  a  man's  face 
look  as  did  this  man's  as  he  stood  there,  his  eyes 
on  his  dead  wife. 

228 


Poor  Rodge 

So  suddenly  that  they  were  not  aware  of 
what  he  was  about,  he  turned  away  and  left  the 
house.  They  had  not  seen  him  since. 

It  was  some  hours  later  that  he  had  come  to 
our  shanty.  Mr.  Kendall  judged  from  what 
we  told  him  that  Rodge  was  suddenly  crazed. 
A  number  of  men  started  out  to  find  him.  The 
search  was  not  long.  Before  noon  they  brought 
his  body  to  his  home.  They  had  found  him 
lying  below  one  of  the  steep  rocks  on  the  shore. 
There  was  no  life  in  him  when  they  reached 
him.  In  falling  he  had  broken  his  neck. 

We  did  not  stay  at  the  dike  long  enough  to 
hear  the  comments  upon  this  tragedy.  We 
began  putting  our  things  together  the  next 
morning  that  we  might  go  in  the  afternoon 
train.  We  did  not  feel  that  we  could  listen  to 
anything  July  Burns  might  say  on  the  subject, 
and  she  had  already  begun  travelling  from  house 
to  house  with  her  news. 

While  we  were  packing,  some  one  silently 
approached  our  open  door.  It  was  Virginia, 
looking  very  hollow-eyed  and  worn.  She  sat 
down  and  seemed  for  the  moment  unable  to 
speak. 

229 


In  a  Dike  Shanty 

At  last  she  glanced  round  and  said  we  did 
well  to  leave.  She  was  going  back  that  day  to 
the  East  village  where  she  boarded  when  she 
had  taught  school  last  spring.  She  could  not 
stay  another  night  where  she  had  been  living. 

She  shuddered  and  paused.  After  a  while 
she  added  that  she  should  start  for  the  South  in 
a  week.  We  had  been  such  friends  that  she 
would  tell  us  that  she  was  to  be  married  on  the 
2Oth.  She  expected  her  betrothed  to  arrive  on 
the  I  gth.  She  had  been  engaged  for  two  years. 
Her  lover  was  a  Tallahassee  gentleman. 

"A  Tallahassee  gentleman  !  "  unguardedly 
exclaimed  my  friend.  "  And  what  of  Leife 
Peake  ?  I  am  surprised." 

Miss  Vance  turned  and  looked  full  at  the 
person  who  had  spoken  thus,  but  she  did  not 
speak. 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?  "  I  asked,  with  per- 
haps an  unwise  impulsiveness.  I  felt  myself 
somewhat  adrift  regarding  our  caller  and  wished 
to  get  to  some  kind  of  anchorage  if  possible. 

The  girl  rose  as  if  to  terminate  the  interview. 
She  shook  hands  with  my  friend.      When  she 
came  to  me  she  took  both  my  hands,  kissed  me 
230 


Poor  Rodge 

with  tender  deliberateness,  and,  with  her  head 
still  bent  toward  me,  and  her  eyes  full  of  a 
lovely  light,  she  whispered, — 

"Oh,  yes,  I  love  him." 

And  I  could  not  doubt  her  words,  but  still  — 
then  she  went  across  the  dike. 

Now  that  we  are  back  again  in  the  wide,  old- 
fashioned  rooms  of  our  inland  farm-house,  we 
should  be  inclined  to  think  our  shanty  life  a  sort 
of  a  dream  were  it  not  for  one  thing  ;  that  thing 
is  Orlando,  who  sits  gravely  on  the  table  at  my 
elbow  as  I  write  this,  and  Orlando  is  very  much 
of  a  reality. 

I  am  convinced  that  he  agrees  with  us  in  our 
conviction  that  his  former  mistress  has  no  place 
in  her  heart  for  more  than  her  Arthur.  Orlando 
has  adopted  us,  and  we  are  now  his  women. 
Perish  the  hand  that  would  part  us ! 


231 


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